


Making it Work

by Squishychickies



Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Firestar is Bluestar's son AU, Gen, i messed up the timeline oops, now with illustrations!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2020-08-14 14:33:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20193832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squishychickies/pseuds/Squishychickies
Summary: In ThunderClan, Bluefur has a son with her loyal mate, Thrushpelt.In RiverClan, Oakheart is totally loyal to Crookedstar.In ShadowClan, Brokenstar is a strong, wise, and noble leader.In WindClan, Tallstar will never see his mate again.In the Twolegplace, cats are fat and lazy.Right?





	1. Chapter 1

In some other, parallel universe far, far away, Bluefur would be overjoyed to have fallen pregnant again. She would run to her ThunderClan mate and break the news, and he would announce it to the Clan at a meeting and every cat would rejoice in the happiness brought by new kits.

In this current universe, Bluefur is decidedly not overjoyed. In fact, she is so un-overjoyed that she ponders jumping into the river and drowning herself for a heartbeat before she remembers she’s terrified of water.

She feels a terrified yowl building up in her chest, but she has to suppress it. Her Clanmates can’t know. They can’t. At least, not until she informs Oakheart and the two come up with a reasonable plan of action together. Maybe, Bluefur thinks with a glimmer of hope, she can keep the kits this time around. She’s already deputy of ThunderClan. All she needs is a suitable pseudo-mate from her own Clan, and she’ll be all set to raise her babies. Mistyfoot and Stonefur’s siblings, she realizes excitedly.

That is, if Oakheart agrees. Bluefur would usually be hesitant to let an irresponsible RiverClan tom have a say in the lives of her children, but in raising their first litter of kits, Oakheart has proven himself again and again to be a great, capable father. He deserves a chance to provide for their second batch of kits, or at least to have the chance to choose not to.

The next Gathering is almost a moon away, though—and Bluefur isn’t even sure she wants to share such sensitive information in the presence of other cats. It’d be too risky, even for a daredevil deputy like Bluefur. The gathering will never do. No, she needs to meet Oakheart as soon as possible. Alone. Today. Right now.

The blue-gray queen nods respectfully to her Clanmates as she passes the clearing, strolling casually out of camp as though she’s just heading out for a hunt. Bluefur makes it out of the ravine uninterrupted, which is surprising given the amount of attention certain cats pay to her. She’s quite popular among the apprentices for her no-nonsense battle training sessions, and Thrushpelt’s personal mission (which began the day Bluefur’s kits “died”) is to make sure Bluefur is never lonely, even for a second. It’s really sweet, and often annoying.

She’s only a quarter-moon pregnant, tops, but Bluefur finds herself tiring quickly as she makes the trek across ThunderClan territory to the border by the river. She hisses quietly. Pregnancy can be a piece of fox dung sometimes. Bluefur would know--she's practically a pro by now!

She stifles a hysterical laugh.

When she makes it to the edge of RiverClan territory (right by Sunningrocks, where Bluefur and Oakheart met for the very first time), she settles herself into a bush to hide, peering out across the river. Time to get comfortable--she has no idea how long it will take for a RiverClan patrol to walk by. Even then, not just any patrol will do. Preferably, the group will contain Oakheart, but she supposes Crookedstar would do just as well. He's not the type to ask unwanted questions.

It's sunhigh when a RiverClan patrol finally arrives, which is, to a scrupulous deputy like Bluefur, frankly ridiculous. Are they _trying _to leave their territory unguarded? Annoyance bubbles up in her chest when she notices that the long-awaited patrol does not contain her mate. Crookedstar is there, though. Oakheart’s brother and new leader of RiverClan. A cat with a hopefully-warranted reputation for compassion.

“Crookedstar!” Bluefur hisses quietly. The light brown tabby’s ears perk up, and he looks around curiously. “Crookedstar!” she repeats.

“One moment,” the tom informs his clanmates through a misshapen jaw. His speech is very careful and slow--like he’s trying to compensate for his injury. “I’m going to try for fish by Sunningrocks.”

“You’ll be wasting your time!” purrs one of his Clanmates, already walking away. “All the big ones are by the twoleg bridge this time of year.”

“I know,” responds the tabby leader. “I just want to check.”

When the rest of the cats have departed and are safely out of earshot, Bluefur slides out of her bush with all the grace of a pregnant porcupine.

Crookedstar flattens his ears when he sees her. “You!” he meows accusingly. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been getting up to with my brother, you fish-face!”

Normally this insult would mortally offend Bluefur, but today, she’s too distracted. “Yes, that’s the problem,” she mews. “I need to talk to him.”

Crookedstar looks affronted. “As if I’ll allow one of my warriors—my brother and deputy no less—to consort with an enemy warrior! I ought to claw you right now!”

“You can’t claw a pregnant cat!” Bluefur taunts before she can stop herself. Then she gasps and jams a paw over her mouth. “I shouldn’t have said that,” she murmurs.

“No, you really shouldn’t have,” agrees Crookedstar. The mention of pregnancy seems to drain away his anger, however, and Bluefur remembers that the RiverClan leader himself is father to one tiny kit. “Oakheart’s?”

Bluefur nods silently.

“I’ll get him,” growls the RiverClan leader. “If you decide you can’t care for them, RiverClan will accept them.”

Bluefur’s eyes widened. That was too good to be true. “Really?” she demands.

“On the condition that you stop seeing Oakheart. Otherwise, I’ll have no choice but to inform Sunstar. At a Gathering! Loudly!” Then, before Bluefur can respond, Crookedstar leaps away to retrieve Oakheart.

***

“Kits?” Oakheart repeats, pausing in his systematic licking of Bluefur’s ear. “Ours?”

Bluefur nods dumbly.

“Again?” demands Oakheart. As if he needs the confirmation.

Bluefur, once again, nods.

“Wow,” murmurs the dark ginger RiverClan tom. “Our kits. Again.” He looks proud for a brief moment, but then he notices Bluefur’s terrified expression. His eyes soften and he returns to grooming the top of her head. “Don’t worry, Bluefur,” Oakheart comforts. “If you can’t take them, I will. They’ll be just fine.”

All Bluefur can think to say in the face of his support is: “You absolute fish-face! How dare you impregnate me again?”

Oakheart ignores her snarl and warmly chuckles, lowering his head to nuzzle Bluefur’s flank. “ThunderClan or RiverClan, these kits will grow up to be amazing cats. I know it.” At Bluefur’s lack of response, he tilts his head. “Really, though. Will they be ThunderClan or RiverClan? I'm fine with either one," he says quickly, racing to reassure his mate, "but I know it's a difficult decision..."

“I thought ThunderClan,” admits Bluefur, pressing herself up against Oakheart. She knows she should be distancing herself from her forbidden mate, but it’s so hard to muster up the gumption to move with him right there. Nuzzling her. Embracing her. Making her stupid and dizzy with all these StarClan cursed feelings! Even with all the hardship this relationship has brought, Bluefur can't bring herself to regret a single moment--all except poor Mosskit. Losing her daughter like that--practically _killing _her--that was a failure to top all failures. A loss that hurt more than even Moonflower or Snowfur, because Bluefur knew every last bit of it was her fault and hers alone--

But these new kits were a rare chance to atone. Nothing would bring her beautiful daughter back--not even StarClan had that power. But if Bluefur could do right by this next litter, she'd be giving to these kits what she had taken from Mosskit--the precious gift of life. “I’m deputy now, and Sunstar won’t make me step down just because of this. I... they could be mine this time."

Oakheart looks briefly crestfallen. “Oh,” he mews. "Gotcha." He spends a somber moment staring across the river. Then his ears perk up and he adopts a determined expression. “Okay. These kits will be ThunderClan.”

“Are you really okay with that?” Bluefur is shocked. She’d expected her mate to put up more of a fight when it came to the custody of their children.

Oakheart nods warmly, his eyes thoughtful. “I have Mistyfoot and Stonefur,” he mews, looking into her eyes honestly. “It’s only fair that you keep this litter.”

“Oh, thank you, Oakheart,” Bluefur purrs brokenly. “I wish we could all be together, but…”

Oakheart tips his head. “I won’t stop being your mate just because of these kits! Did you honestly think I would?”

His words pierce her like a thorn—Bluefur feels her heart may rupture from sadness. She focuses her cerulean eyes at the ground. “Of course not, Oakheart,” she mews desperately, “but Crookedstar said…”

Oakheart lashes his tail, his amber eyes narrowing. “What did my brother say?” He emphasises the word “brother,” like it’s a curse.

“After these kits are born…” Bluefur murmurs, pressing her nose into her mate’s side. She sighs as she feels his warm scent wash over her. “We aren’t allowed to see each other anymore.”

“That’s a load of mouse-dung!” explodes Oakheart. “What gives him the right to seperate us?”

“He’s your leader?” tries Bluefur. “And he says he’ll tell Sunstar, too.”

Though Oakheart twines his tail with hers comfortingly, his eyes are still narrowed in rage. “Hm,” is his only response. “We’ll see about that.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully you all liked the last chapter! I have about 3.5 chapters done so far...

“Thrushpelt, do you want to go hunting with me?”

It’s a beautiful day for hunting. The sun shines warmly into the ThunderClan camp, illuminating the green growth of the forest. Birds chirp as they fly through the blue, cloudless sky.

As the queens snicker behind their paws, excited beyond belief at the thought of Bluefur and Thrushpelt finally spending time together (because what could this hunting trip be, but the beginning of an epic saga of romance?) Thrushpelt’s face lights up like she’d just invited him to be her mate right then and there. “Of course!” he exclaims, hurrying over to Bluefur. “Do you want to eat first? I caught this amazing rabbit earlier today. Or we can pick something up on the way--the Clan is already fed.”

“Slow down!” she purrs. He looks as excited as a kit on his first time out of the nursery. Bluefur feels awful. He loves her so much. He would do anything for her. And she is about to abuse that affection for Oakheart’s and her own wellbeing.

Well. A cat’s gotta do what a cat’s gotta do. She'll make it up to him later--for now she can just add him to the ever-growing list of cats she's utterly failed. “We can get something while we’re hunting. Maybe by the Great Sycamore?”

“Of course!” he mews, padding up to the thorn tunnel. “Lead the way!”

As Bluefur bounds through the forest, Thrushpelt on her heels, she ponders the best way to ask this favor of him. While she regretfully has no feelings beyond friendship for the light brown tabby tom, she knows he’s an amazing, selfless cat. Even if he shoots her down, he’ll do it nicely. This thought encourages her. And--and she knows it's a very narcissistic thought--Thrushpelt will probably agree because it's the closest he'll ever get to being Bluefur's mate.

Once they’ve reached the Great Sycamore, she gathers up all her courage and sits down in front of the towering tree.

“I didn’t come here to hunt,” Bluefur admits, looking down at her paws. It’s too hard to look into Thrushpelt’s earnest, eager eyes.

“Oh?” Thruspelt asks, confused. “Why, then?" Self deprecatingly, he adds, "I can assume it’s not for my company.”

“Thrushpelt…” she mews shamefully, blue eyes full of despair, “I’m so sorry.” She can hardly look at the kind tom in front of her. She forces herself to anyways, and finds him full of concern and affection. As always. 

The brown tabby sits down beside her, smiling gently. “It’s okay.” He licks her ear. “I’ll be here for you in any capacity you want--clanmate, friend, mate, anything. Anything you want. You know that.”

Bluefur wants to wail aloud. Thrushpelt is making this so incredibly difficult! If only there was a cat who would do Bluefur this incredible favor that wouldn’t likely end up crushed like a little loveless bug...but no. It has to be Thrushpelt. Besides his endlessly giving personality, the tabby tom also resembles Oakheart. They're both yellow-eyed tabbies, and of a similar size. Even if their babies turn out looking similar to the RiverClan deputy, no cat will accuse Bluefur of lying about their heritage. “How about...fake mate?” she whispers.

Thrushpelt’s ear twitches. “What?” he asks. Evidently this is not the request he'd been expecting.

“I…I need to tell you something huge. And I need you to not freak out. Can you do that for me?”

Thrushpelt nods. “Of course, Bluefur.” He settles down besides her and gives the top of her head a gentle lick. It's the same thing Oakheart always does, except coming from her mate, it inspires a deep-rooted sense of comfort and safety and love. Coming from Thrushpelt, it just feels like a lick on the head.

Bluefur inhales a deep, fortifying breath. “Mistykit and Stonekit are not dead. They live in RiverClan, with their father. Oakheart,” Bluefur begins, looking to Thruspelt to gauge his reaction. Luckily, he only nods. “Mistyfoot and Stonefur.”

“Okay.”

“And…” continues Bluefur nervously, “I’m pregnant again. With Oakheart’s kits.”

“I see.” Thrushpelt’s expression is unreadable, but he makes no move to leave Bluefur’s side. That’s probably a good sign, Bluefur thinks. Then again, the closer he is to Bluefur, the less he'll have to exert himself to claw her face off.

“But this time, I don’t want to give up the kits. I want them to grow up in ThunderClan.”

“And cats will get suspicious if you don’t have a mate.”

“Yes.” Bluefur nods and stares into Thrushpelt’s eyes. “I don’t think I’ll be seeing Oakheart anymore,” she admits in a whisper. “Crookedstar has threatened to tell Sunstar. I could be demoted from deputy. But these kits need a father.”

Thrushpelt’s tail twitches back and forth in an eager pattern. “You’re asking me to raise your kits?” he demands.

Bluefur flinches back, interpreting his question as angry disbelief. “You don’t have to,” she mews quickly, blinking. “But I really need--”

“Of course I’ll do it!”

“What?” asks Bluefur, shocked. “Really? You will?”

Thrushpelt stands up and begins pacing, seemingly unable to contain his excitement. “Uh, duh!” he cries, running up to Bluefur and covering her face in licks. “I would be honored to father your kits! I wonder what they’ll look like!” After a moment of thought, he adds, “Hopefully you.”

Bluefur snorts in laughter. “Well, the last few did!”

Thrushpelt races away again, almost to the edge of the clearing. “Oh, I must tell everyone! I’ll be a father! Sort of!” Before he leaves, he pauses, and the glow fades from his eyes. “It’s okay if I tell cats, right? I mean, they’ll know eventually, but I don’t want to break your trust if this is a secret.”

Bluefur ponders, ignores the fact that she's already broken the trust of her entire Clan and they don't even know it, and then nods. “Tell whoever you like,” she murmurs. It’ll make her story more credible, should anyone doubt that Thrushpelt is the father.

He looks like he’s about to dash off again, but suddenly stops and pads back to Bluefur, eyes narrowed in uncharacteristic suspicion. “And you’re sure you won’t be seeing Oakheart anymore? Even secretly?”

Bluefur’s spirits sink like a stone in a river. “I--” she began.

“He’s an enemy warrior!” Thrushpelt continues, attempting to convince her. “He can’t father these kits, and he can’t be your mate. Not in any meaningful way, at least.” His tone softens. “I would never judge you for your choices. What’s done is done. But this can’t keep happening.”

“I know,” whispers Bluefur, lowering her head to gaze at the forest floor. Thoughts flit through her mind like minnows--_will_ she see Oakheart? Will he want a paw in these kits’ lives? It wouldn’t be totally unreasonable. Maybe he can join ThunderClan!

No. Her thoughts are getting away from her again. Oakheart is an enemy warrior, loyal to RiverClan only. After a long moment, she shakes her head, feeling like she’s convincing herself more than Thrushpelt. “I won’t see Oakheart anymore.”

Thrushpelt smiles sadly, bounding over to nuzzle her. “I know it’s hard,” he mews, “and I know I’m not your real mate. But I’ll do the best I can.”

“That’s all I ask,” Bluefur murmurs. They stay nestled together under the Great Sycamore for a very long time, and it's sort of like a free sample of the coming moons. Of the rest of Bluefur's life. Because, she realizes as they share tongues, this ruse will need to last for as long se she lives. Her kits will have to grow up thinking Thrushpelt is their father.

Though the thought makes her sad, she knows that any kits would be lucky to have such a kind-hearted tom taking care of them. Bluefur knows he'll be utterly devoted; she can't imagine him being anything but.

The sun dips below the horizon and the stars of Silverpelt cast their light through the sky, dappling the forest floor with shadows and starlight. Finally, Thrushpelt whispers that he must get back to camp, and Bluefur nods. Being with Thrushpelt had been pleasant--she has no complaints except that he isn't Oakheart. But that's something she's just going to have to get over.

Though this meeting had gone perfectly as possible, Bluefur feels though her heart weighs a million pounds. She feels horribly guilty for poor Thrushpelt’s sake, terrible for replacing Oakheart, and worse for these kits who will never know their true father. Lying to the Clan, though? That is just another sacrifice.

***

Thrushpelt doesn’t sleep that night. He paces the land by the Sunningrocks, half hoping to see Oakheart so he can give him a piece of his mind and half praying he’ll never meet the dark ginger tom again. He thinks he would probably be crying if he wasn’t so used to Bluefur not loving him.

It’s a fact of life. The sky is blue. The grass is green. Bluefur will never love him, and he will never stop loving her.

***

“Just what do you think you’re playing at?” snarls a reddish-ginger tabby under a moonlit willow. RiverClan territory looks beautiful at night, and usually Oakheart would stop to appreciate it, but tonight he is just too upset. The river gurgles away in the background. “How dare you try to separate me from Bluefur?”

Crookedstar stares at him, disbelief clear in his leaf-green eyes. “You really have to ask that? Of course I want to separate you from Bluefur! She’s the deputy of another Clan! In fact,” continues Crookedstar slowly, “what happens when we have to fight them for Sunningrocks? You can’t have allegiances in ThunderClan then, can you?”

Oakheart snarls at his brother. “Territory? Is that really all you care about? I love her, Crookedstar! You cannot take that away from me! Don’t you understand?” 

Oakheart thinks that maybe appealing to the RiverClan leader’s softer side will help him win the argument. After all—Crookedstar had once loved a cat. Maybe he will understand. 

They’re littermates. If Oakheart has to choose between his brother and the she-cat he loves, he doesn’t know who he’ll pick.

For a moment, Crookedstar’s eyes widen. Then they harden, narrowing, and his lips curl in a vicious snarl. It looks a bit odd, what with his injured jaw, but just as terrifying as it’s clearly meant to be. “Life is hard. My love was taken from me—I guess now you’ll know how I feel.”

***

Many sunups later, on a breezy leaf-bare day, Bluefur gives birth to one tiny tomkit as Thrushpelt watches on, his chest puffed up with unadulterated pride.

“Look,” she mews raspily when the whole ordeal is over, voice tired from yowling. “Our son.” The words hurt and stick in her throat, and it's not just because of the grating soreness.

“Our son,” agrees Thrushpelt, pressing up against Bluefur. His yellow eyes shine with love, and Bluefur marvels at the sheer depth of affection he could feel for this child who does not belong to him.

Of course, Thrushpelt’s own adoration could never compare to Bluefur’s. For the second time in her life her heart swells with pure love--pure _joy--_as she looks down upon her newborn, messy and mewling, snuggled up to her belly. Tiny and perfect.

“He’s perfectly healthy,” Spottedleaf informs the parents--one real and one false--warmly. She's obviously none the wiser to their ploy. “I’ll leave you here with him. Call out if you need anything at all.”

Bluefur nods, hardly registering what the pretty medicine cat is saying. “He’s so orange!” she mews, awed.

It’s true. His fluffy kit pelt is a bright ginger-ish orange, markings standing out slightly darker against the fur. When she looks at his face, her heart swells with love--he has the same markings as Oakheart. Just in a different color. 

“Our son is perfect,” she mews, but she’s not talking to Thrushpelt. She’s talking to Oakheart, far away in RiverClan territory. 

“His pelt looks just like fire,” agrees Thrushpelt after a moment.

“Yes it does…” Bluefur meows. “Firekit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew hopefully you all liked that. can't help but feel bad for ol' thrushpelt, eh? What an angst muffin.


	3. Chapter 3

Firekit’s perspective on life is a little lacking, judging his relative lack of experience regarding everything other than the nursery. But there are two things he knows for sure: he loves hide-and-seek, and he hates taking naps.

Hide-and-seek is the perfect game, in Firekit’s humble opinion. Since he and Bluefur are the nursery’s only current residents (a couple of queens are pregnant, but none heavily enough so to warrant the abandonment of their warrior duties), there is enough space for Firekit to burrow into a hiding spot while Mother closes her eyes for ten heartbeats. It always takes her a long time to find him. This is because Firekit is amazing at hiding.

In fact, Firekit is sure she’ll never find him this time. He stifles a purr as Mother lumbers around the den, calling out, “Firekit? Firekit? Oh dear! I can’t find him!”

Father walks into the den, his whiskers twitching with amusement. “Have you lost our son again?” he demands jokingly.

“Yes! I wonder where he could be?”

“Hm…”

Father joins in on the search, and it takes only a moment for him to spot Firekit nestled underneath a nest, covered in moss. “There he is!” 

“You found him!” cries Bluefur. She turns to her kit. “How did you hide so well?” she asks, looking dreadfully and exaggeratedly concerned.

Firekit purrs and runs into his mother, burrowing into her soft fur. “I’m just really good at hide-and-seek!” he boasts. “I bet warriors have to hide like that all the time.” 

“Oh yes,” agrees Thrushpelt. 

Mother and Father share a glance over Firekit’s head, and he flicks his tail in annoyance as they begin to laugh. “What’s funny?” he demands, flicking his short tail. He only grows angrier as they stifle their amusement. “What?” 

“Nothing, my little warrior,” comforts Thrushpelt. “Warriors definitely hide all the time.”

“I knew it!”

“Don’t get too arrogant, now,” warns Bluefur, tucking her son in for what promises to be a very good cuddle. “Maybe you need a nap.” 

“No!” gasps Firekit, feeling an acute sense of betrayal.

“You look tired, though!” teases Thrushpelt. “Maybe just a quick little rest--”

“Never!” Firekit runs from his parents and they chase him around the nursery, purring all the way.

***

Crookedstar knows Oakheart is planning something. Though he hides it well, he’s worn a highly suspicious expression for moons now, and honestly. Crookedstar was not born yesterday. He knows his brother all too well.

That said, they haven’t spoken ever since their argument. Given, it’s made daily life in RiverClan a little tougher than it needs to be (it’s sort of crucial for the leader and deputy to actually communicate) but they get along fine with the use of messengers.

(“Stonefur, tell your deputy that he should send out a hunting patrol. It should have been done earlier, but sometimes our deputy needs _ an extra reminder of his responsibilities _.”

“No! Stonefur, tell your leader that I knew that, and I already sent one out a moment ago. He should really _ trust his deputy, _ don’t you think?”)

Crookedstar knows its immature of him. He's the leader of RiverClan! He should be able to get past a little argument! But, honestly. Oakheart going and _impregnating _the ThunderClan deputy was the height of immaturity. Nothing Crookedstar does will top that.

RiverClan is prospering, obviously, until a patrol returns from the border with the news that Oakheart has been scented trespassing on the Sunningrocks—they haven’t actually gotten them back yet from ThunderClan, but that’s all part of Crookedstar’s master plan. They’ll win them back eventually, he’s sure. 

Anyways, according to the young warrior Shadepelt, the story was that Adderfang of ThunderClan had smelled Oakheart's scent on Sunningrocks and worked himself up into a veritable fury. The RiverClan cats had obviously assumed he was lying, and a fight had almost broken out, until the rival patrols agreed that one RiverClan cat could cross the river to have a whiff and prove Adderfang's point. To Greenflower's extreme surprise, Oakheart's scent on the Sunningrocks had been overwhelming--like he'd spent hours there. 

Having just gotten the scoop on his deputy’s behavior, Crookedstar growls to the leader of the patrol, “Why don’t you fetch your deputy now, and we’ll discuss it?”

The warrior bounds away to fetch Oakheart, and returns a moment later with the ginger tom in tow. “Thank you, Shadepelt. You’re _ such a loyal warrior _.”

The plump she-cat nods uneasily and tries to slip out of the den, but Crookedstar stops her. “Wait, Shadepelt, before you go... would you ask your deputy what he was doing on a rival clan’s territory?” 

She turns her head to give Oakheart the message, but Oakheart hisses, tail lashing, “Shadepelt, please inform your leader that these accusations are unfounded and whether or not I trespassed is inconsequential to the well-being of RiverClan. Besides,” his eyes narrow, “weren’t we supposed to win back Sunningrocks a long time ago?”

Crookedstar’s fur bristles with outrage. “Shadepelt! Tell your deputy that he may not question his leader!”

“Shadepelt! Tell your leader that he should have more faith in his deputy, who also happens to be his brother!” 

“Tell your deputy that I would have faith in him if he weren’t so insistent upon breaking Clan law!”

“Tell your leader I have good reasons, which he should understand!”

“Tell Oakheart there is never an excuse to take a mate from another Clan!”

Silence. 

Shadepelt looks horrified, her round eyes flicking from Crookedstar, to Oakheart, back to Crookedstar again. She mumbles something and slips out of the den, leaving the two brothers to their rapidly escalating shouting match.

Quiet hangs heavy in the den, disturbed only by the heavy breathing of the two tomcats. “I don’t _believe_ you,” says Oakheart quietly, a dangerous hint in his voice. “The entire Clan will have heard.”

“I’m sorry, Oakheart, but it really is time for you to choose. I know what you were doing on Sunningrocks—looking for Bluefur.” Crookedstar doesn’t want to continue on with what he’s about to say, but he knows it’s necessary. There is no room for disloyalty in RiverClan. “You have to decide—RiverClan or Bluefur.”

Oakheart gapes at Crookedstar, who feels apologetic for approximately a heartbeat. But he know's this decision is long overdue. Crookedstar is finally acting like a leader. “You would really ask that of me? I can’t choose!” 

“You have to.” Then, as Crookedstar begins to exit the den to confront his Clan about what they have heard, “I give you a quarter moon.”

***

It’s the middle of the night. Firekit was sound asleep until just a minute ago, when Bluefur stood up and left to take a trip to the dirtplace. It’s cold without her blue-gray pelt to nestle into, so he stays awake, awaiting her return.

When a head pokes into the nursery, Firekit leaps up to greet his mother. But the cat who had just appeared is not Bluefur--instead, there stands a large, long-haired brown tabby tom with glinting amber eyes. “You’re not Mother,” accuses Firekit.

He’s never seen this warrior before in his life, but that’s not too surprising given that, in his half-moon of existence, Firekit has never left the nursery. This giant cat could just be a ThunderClan warrior visiting him for the first time. “That’s right,” agrees the tom. “I’m not your mother. She sent me here to come get you.”

“Get me for what?” asks Firekit, excited already at the prospect of a midnight adventure. “A game?”

“Yes,” meows the tom, walking the rest of the way into the nursery. “Do you like hide-and-seek?”

“Oh, yes!” exclaims Firekit joyously. “It’s my favorite!” 

The strange cat’s eyes gleam in the darkness. “Mine too. And I know a very secret, special hiding spot where your mother will never find you. Do you want to see?”

“Is Mother okay with it?” Firekit doesn’t want Bluefur to be upset with him.

“Certainly. I asked her on my way in. She’s counting down right now, so we’d better go fast!”

“Okay!” mews the orange kit, allowing the brown warrior to pick him up by the scruff of his neck. “Let’s go!” 

The brown tabby warrior exits the nursery via a hole in the wall, which leads them through a secret exit to the camp. “We must be very quiet now,” warns the big brown cat as they leave. “Your mother might hear us.”

Firekit stifles a mew of amusement and together, the ginger kit and the brown warrior leave ThunderClan territory. 

Outside of the nursery, the world is very cold. Snow creates a thin veil on the ground, covering the grass. Wind blows through the forest, whistling through the trees and making very scary noises. “I’m cold,” complains an exhausted Firekit halfway through their journey. “I want to go home.”

He expects the nice warrior to agree and take him home to mother. After all, tonight has been fun, but the brown tabby probably also wants to go to sleep. Maybe they can do this again another night, when the weather is warmer. 

“Silence, kit!” comes the snarled response.

Firekit whimpers and mewls the entire way to the ShadowClan camp, but Brokenstar--he learns the warrior’s name when another cat greets him--does not let him go. When the two reach a large den in the corner of the snowy, moonlit camp, Brokenstar set him down and delivers a swift clawing to his right ear. “That’s for being a pain in my tail!”

It's cold beneath the towering ShadowClan pine trees. He cries out for his mother, but she never comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... am so sorry. Poor lil guy. Oh well, whatever.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get real, man.

“I am Blackfoot,” announces a huge white tom with jet black paws the next morning. “I will be your mentor. My mate Tallpoppy--” he flicks his tail towards a light brown tabby queen, “--will act as your caretaker for as long as you need one. You shouldn't even need one, but as weak and pathetic as you are, we decided to do you this kindness. Do not give her trouble. Understood?”

While the little ginger kit certainly does not understand--he has a perfectly good mother back home, he’s almost certain. Why would he need another one? Unless Mother no longer wishes to be his mother? That’s probably what happened, he decides--he nods meekly, refusing to meet Blackfoot’s yellow eyes.

Blackfoot twitches an ear scornfully. “What is your name, kit?”

“Um,” stutters the kit, confused by the new, mean cats and dark, shadowed camp. “Uh--”

“Stupid kit!” hisses Blackfoot. He bats the ginger kit’s ear, his blow luckily softer than Brokenstar’s. The kit mews in pain. “I guess I’ll have to name you myself. Don’t make me decide on Stupidpaw, alright?”

“Stupidpaw?” he questions. “Am I an apprentice now?”

“Yes. I’ll decide on you name later. You’re too young for fight training,” assesses the white tom with narrowed eyes, “but any kit can learn to hunt. Follow me.” 

Blackfoot rises to his paws and begins to strut across the camp, his wide strides making it impossible for the poor young cat to keep up. Tallpoppy shoots him a sympathetic glance, but says nothing.

His tiny orange paws sink into the marshy ground as they walk, tainting his fur with the pungent odor of mud. His old home smelled much better than this, he's almost sure. But at least he's learning how to hunt--something he's been looking forward to his whole life.

Maybe, when he catches his first prey, he can take it to Mother and she'll be so proud, she'll let him stay with her instead of in this unpleasant, unfamiliar Clan.

***

Oakheart’s eyes light up when he sees Bluefur, patrolling the RiverClan border with some Clanmates. Thrushpelt is there, he notices with narrowed eyes. “Bluefur!” he calls jovially. 

He expects her to be happy or surprised. Suspicious, maybe. But all that greets Oakheart is an impenetrable mask of sadness, mirrored by the faces of her Clanmates. “What’s…” he falters. “What’s happened?”

Bluefur’s eyes light up with fresh pain, so Thrushpelt wastes no time in delivering a comforting lick to her ear. Oakheart wants to scoff, but refrains, unwilling to upset his mate further. They haven’t spoken in moons, at Bluefur’s insistence, and doesn’t want their reunion to be marred by anger. 

The other member of the patrol, a pretty she-cat Oakheart doesn’t recognize, looks angrily at him. “Her son has disappeared. We suspect he was kidnapped by ShadowClan, but we couldn’t catch a definite scent in all the snow.” After a moment, the warrior’s fur bristles. “Why am I telling you this? You’re an enemy warrior.” 

“Oh no, I’m not.” Oakheart decrees after not a moment’s thought. This new information solidifies his decision, leaves him with no doubt about what to do. If his son is missing, then there is no doubt about what Oakheart must do. He will not rest until that kit is home safe in ThunderClan. “I’m joining ThunderClan. Take me to Sunstar, please.”

***

Bluefur stares, in shock, at the dark ginger warrior. “You are?” she demands. In the face of all the awful misfortune she’s suffered, this feels way too good to be true.

“You _ are?” _Thrushpelt yowls, eyes wide. Bluefur winces—this will make things much more complicated.

“I am.” Oakheart informs them firmly, his eyes like chips of flint. “May I cross over into your territory, now?”

Thrushpelt still looks too horrified for words and Rosetail just looks surprised, so Bluefur takes authority. In the week since her son has been missing, she has completely neglected her duties—this is the first patrol she’s been on since. She only agreed to it because she had hoped she may catch a trace of Firekit’s scent, a task which all the search parties failed to accomplish. Oakheart brings her new hope, though. She knows he’ll do everything possible to find their son. She’s sure of it. “Yes,” Bluefur decides, her eyes as determined as her mate’s. “I’ll bring you to Sunstar. Rosetail, Thrushpelt,” she commands, “finish the patrol.”

“But…” protests the ever-loyal Thrushpelt, his voice faltering. 

Bluefur can hardly stand to look at him—he must understand that if Oakheart is allowed to join ThunderClan, she will choose him as a mate. Thrushpelt is a great friend, but nothing more. Still, it breaks her heart to have broken his. Bluefur pads up to Thrushpelt and nudges him gently with her nose. “We’ll talk later.” 

He nods mutely, looking like he wants to protest, but obediently walks away. 

“So,” Bluefur begins when the other cats are out of earshot, “how in the name of StarClan did you decide on this?”

“Well,” Oakheart recounts, walking through the woods as though he owns them. It’s the RiverClan tom’s characteristic arrogance that Bluefur fell in love with rearing its head again, and Bluefur would have been unable to stop herself from swooning if she wasn’t still depressed from the loss of Firekit. “I didn’t know for sure, until now. But Crookedstar said I had to choose between you and RiverClan, and I came to ask you what you thought I should do, but then I heard about our son, and I knew I had to.” 

“Shh!” Bluefur hisses, glancing warily around her. “They think Thrushpelt is the father.”

Oakheart scoffs and ignores this particular fact. “So what is our son’s name? Does he have any siblings?”

“It’s just him. His name is Firekit—he’s bright orange with these beautiful leaf-green eyes...a bit like Crookedstar’s, actually.” Talking about her missing child fills Bluefur with an overwhelming mixture of happiness and utter sorrow, choking her throat until she has to sit down. "He's so sweet and kind already... and so smart..."

Oakheart doesn’t miss a beat, sitting down beside her and administering a swift lick to her ear. “He sounds fantastic,” he meows, clearly ignoring the reference to his brother. “I’ll find him.”

By now, they’ve reached the ravine that marks the entrance to ThunderClan’s camp. Oakheart has never been here before, to Bluefur’s knowledge, but he does not falter as they climb down the steep slope. 

Lionheart meets them on the way down. “What’s he doing here?” the golden warrior asks, diplomatically flipping an ear towards Oakheart.

“I have to talk to Sunstar before I tell you,” mews Bluefur apologetically.

Before Bluefur can stop him, Oakheart cheekily grins and nudges Lionheart. “I’ll tell you all about it later, _ Clanmate!” _

Lionheart gapes at them for a moment, then turns around and runs towards camp. “I’ll warn Sunstar!” he yowls on the way.

“Oakheart!” squeals Bluefur, turning to reprimand her mate. “What are you doing!”

He smiles widely. “Can’t hurt to make friends in my new Clan!” 

“You’re acting as though you know Sunstar will accept you,” Bluefur answers doubtfully. All of her fears come flooding back, along with a fresh wave of longing for her son. Though he was only half a moon old when he disappeared, the little cat always knew what to say to make Bluefur feel better. His comforts ranged from bragging about his warrior skills to how, when he became an apprentice, he would fix her nest every day and bring her the best prey. Firekit is such a loyal son. Bluefur wants him back so, so badly.

“Bluefur! Oakheart!” calls a commanding voice. It’s the old-but-still-vigorous Sunstar, standing below the highrock. Most of the Clan has gathered around, glancing curiously at Oakheart with ears flattened and fur bristling. The former RiverClan deputy is very good warrior, Bluefur knows, and a highly respected cat. It’s sort of suspicious that he would suddenly choose to switch allegiances. “Join me in my den, and we will talk.” Though his words are friendly, Bluefur weeks a sense of foreboding as she and her mate enter the leader’s den.

***

“What in the name of StarClan has brought this sudden decision about?” demands the golden ThunderClan leader. “And what makes you think I’ll agree? You could be a spy, for all I know.”

Oakheart chances a glance at Bluefur, who is looking at her leader with desperation in her blue eyes. “Bluefur,” hisses Oakheart, very quietly. She looks at him, and the question is clear in her eyes. _ Do we tell him? _

Oakheart nods. “He’ll trust this more coming from you.”

“Yeah,” agrees Bluefur unsteadily. “Yeah, okay. Sunstar.” She turns to her leader, who has gone from looking very suspicious to very confused. “Oakheart is my mate. He has been for around eight seasons now.”

Sunstar, to his credit, does not immediately throw them out like had been Oakheart’s worst fear. He does look angry, however, as he flicks his tail and mews, “Continue.”

Bluefur does, and tells him the whole story, starting with the tale of Mistyfoot and Stonefur and ending where they are now—Oakheart, after a fight with his brother, has come to ThunderClan to be Bluefur’s mate and bring their son home. 

“I see…” says Sunstar when they finish. His tail flicks uneasily, and he looks very thoughtful. “Oakheart, I have two options right now. Well, three. Three options.”

Oakheart dips his head in a show of deep respect, eyes questioning.

“Throw you out. Throw you _ and _Bluefur out. Or accept your story and trust you, somehow. They’re all very tempting, to be honest. I know of your reputation, Oakheart. A very valuable warrior…” 

“Thank you,” responds Oakheart humbly. “I can devote my strengths to ThunderClan, if you decide to permit me.”

Sunstar thinks for a moment. “And you want to find Firekit and bring him to ThunderClan.”

“Yes.”

Another moment passes before Sunstar slaps his tail to the ground. “That’s it, then. You will be a ThunderClan cat on a probation period until you prove your loyalty by returning Firekit to us. Then, and only then, will you receive full warrior status.” 

“Yes!” Oakheart exclaims, fur bushing up with excitement. “Sunstar, you will not regret this.” 

Bluefur looks surprised. “And what of me? I took a mate from another Clan!”

Sunstar looks pained. “Yes, well, we can’t just forget about that. You will be on probation, too. If Oakheart proves himself loyal to ThunderClan, you will be restored to your full deputy status. If not... well, you'll have proven your judgement can't be trusted. You will both be unwelcome in ThunderClan.” 

Oakheart is horrified. Bluefur’s status is dependent on his success? Sure, _ Oakheart _knows he won’t fail, but the rest of ThunderClan would have no idea of this. He looks to his blue-gray mate, appalled, but she just looks determined. “What does this probation period entail?”

Sunstar returns her gaze steadily. “Within ThunderClan territory, you will always remain in the presence of another ThunderClan warrior. You will not approach the RiverClan border without express permission from me. You will only take prey after the _ entire _rest of the Clan is fed. Oakheart. When you are not searching for Firekit, you will be on hunting duty, learning to hunt the ThunderClan way. No fishing.”

While some of those terms seem a bit outrageous to Oakheart—why in StarClan’s name does he need a _ guard? _ And what, are ThunderClan cats _ incapable _of eating perfectly good fish?—he is willing to do anything to join ThunderClan and bring his son home safe. He looks to Bluefur, who mirrors her determined expression, then nods quickly. “Okay. We’ll do it.”

***

When Thrushpelt learns he is to guard Oakheart and teach him to hunt woodland prey, he wants to yowl. He wants to tear the stupid, homewrecking, RiverClan fish-face to shreds. But he doesn’t. He nods and does exactly as Sunstar says. 

Oakheart is a stupidly good hunter, which annoys Thrushpelt to no end. He’s stupidly good-looking, too, which doesn’t help one bit. But the worst part of all?

Oakheart is so, horribly, annoyingly, nice. 

He personally delivers food to the elders and queens, every single day. He is kind to all the apprentices, telling them stories of RiverClan and teaching them ingenious new fighting moves. Even the warriors, who make no attempts at hiding their hostility towards Oakheart, are treated with respect. Every cat is subject to his non-stop compliments and encouragement.

Thrushpelt watches all of this with narrowed eyes and a flicking tail, long-hidden jealousy threatening to bubble up to the surface and explode. Now he understands exactly why Bluefur chose Oakheart--he is perfect in ways Thrushpelt will never be.

**

The first time Princess ever leaves her house folk's den, she’s six moons old with a brand new pink collar and a hunger to explore.

“Don’t go too far!” warns her mother, smiling gently at her daughter. Princess responds with a cheery tail-flick, and then the small, brown tabby is on her way.

Princess slips through the cat-flap, her small body fitting perfectly through the hole in the door. Housefolk really are smart, she thinks, coming up with such ingenious inventions. She, her mother, and her father are so lucky to have them. 

She crosses the grassy lawn and hops up onto the short, white fence that surrounds the yard. It’s not a _ super _comfortable perch for a dignified little cat like Princess, but it’ll do well enough for now. It provides a perfect view of the forest, which at the moment, is snowy and white. 

The sky is a cold, clear blue, a watery sun cutting through the winter chill. The layer of snow on the forest floor is pristine and untouched but for a single trail of footprints which, upon further inspection, belong to a small, brown bird. Her breath fogs in front of her in the sharp, clean air.

Seeing the perfect sheet of white on the ground tempts Princess, and for a moment she wants to leap off her fence and play in it like she’s seen her house folk’s kits do. However, she stops herself at the last moment. A dignified young cat like herself should not_ play _ in snow like a kitten. No, no, Princess will take a _ walk _ in the snow. Nothing more.

The white and brown tabby hops from the fence, landing delicately in the icy powder below. Her paws sink into the snow, but luckily, she has a long coat to keep her feet warm. Looking in the direction of the forest, Princess pads on.

It really is a beautiful day, she thinks an hour later, having walked along the outskirts of the woods for quite a distance. The trees here have transitioned from woody oaks to tall pines, and the ground here is soft like a marsh. Princess catches the scent of many strange cats, but pays no mind to the unfamiliar odor until one of these such felines barrels straight into her. It’s a tiny orange kitten, shivering with cold.

The kitten boasts a hideously scarred ear, obviously caused by a wound left untreated. His ribs show beneath his pelt, and he is obviously freezing. Despite this, however, his pelt is a really handsome orange tabby, which reminds Princess of her father.

“Oh my goodness!” exclaims Princess, eyes wide with concern. “What are you doing here? Where are your house folk?”

“What?” asks the kitten, backing up to stare at her with suspicious green eyes. “What are house folk?”

Princess gasps. “You don’t know what house folk are?” she demands. This poor cat! Princess doesn’t know _ what _she’d do without house folk.

The orange kitten shakes his head.

Princess’ voice drops to a hushed whisper as she realizes what that must mean. “Then you must be a wild cat! Wow! I’ve always wanted to meet one of you! Father tells so many stories…”

“Yeah, I’m a wild cat.” confirms the little kitten at her feet. “But it’s really not as fun as it sounds.” 

“It doesn’t sound fun at all,” counters Princess. 

“Oh,” he responds. “Then...I guess it’s exactly as fun as it sounds.”

Princess frowns. “I’m sorry,” she mews sympathetically. “How old are you, anyways? The house folk didn’t let me out of the house until I was six moons old.” 

“Three moons,” responds the kitten. 

Princess lets out a shocked exclamation. “You’re _ way _ too young to be out here, you poor dear! Let me bring you home to your family.”

“Oh, I don’t have a family,” the kit informs her easily. “And, thanks for the offer, but I’m not allowed to go home until I’ve got prey. Otherwise...well...Blackfoot will be really angry. And I don’t want him to be mad at you.” 

Princess’ tail droops. “That sounds awful,” she sympathises. “How long will it take you to find food?”

The kitten’s tail droops, too, mimicking Princess’. “A long time,” he confides. “But that’s my fault. Blackfoot says a I’m as stupid as a badger.”

Though Princess has never heard of a badger and is therefore unable to judge the sting of this insult, she feels upset on the behalf of her new friend. “Maybe I could help you get some food,” she offers.

The kit’s eyes light up. “You would do that?”

“Yeah!” exclaims Princess. “It’s what friends do!” Besides, the answer to this kitten’s dilemma is clear to her: she would just take him home to her house folk, who would be unable to resist feeding this skinny, pathetic kitten. Then, Princess and her new friend would take the bowl back to the forest, and the mysterious Blackfoot would be so pleased, he’d forget to be awful!

“Wow,” mews the kit reverently. “I’ve never had a real friend before! What’s your name?”

“Princess. What’s yours?”

“I don’t really have one,” responds the kitten sadly. “But I bet I’ll get one today, when I bring back lots of food! Blackfoot will be so impressed, he’ll _ have _ to ask Brokenstar to name me.”

Though each new piece of information about her nameless friend’s life makes Princess feel even sadder, she smiles. “I bet! What kind of name do you want?”

“I would be pleased with any name, obviously. But I’ve never heard one as cool as yours!”

Princess purrs. “For now, I’ll call you Rusty,” she decides. “Because you’re the color of rust. Is that cool enough for you?” 

Rusty ponders this for a moment. Then he nods. “It’s super cool.”

A moment later, as they walk back to Princess' house: "What is rust?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew hopefully you enjoyed this chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> during which Blackfoot is IMPORTANT!

“So,” Oakheart begins one morning, chewing on a sparrow beside Bluefur. “Now that we’ve thoroughly checked ThunderClan territory, the next step is to question ShadowClan.” 

The time since had Oakheart joined ThunderClan has been spent meticulously searching every inch of ThunderClan’s forest. He, Bluefur, and Thrushpelt have checked under every bush, behind every stone, and up every tree, but Firekit has not yet been found. The formerly-RiverClan tom doesn’t lose hope, though--far from it. Failing to find his son so far only makes him more determined. 

“Hm,” Bluefur hums thoughtfully. “We did find traces of their scent when he first disappeared. But not enough to definitively prove anything--sometimes our cats bring back the scent of other Clans after patrolling their borders. That’s why we never checked their territory, or asked them about it. Maybe we should just have a sniff around their border?”

Oakheart worries about Bluefur sometimes, fearing that she will spiral further into her depression the longer it takes to find Firekit. But the opposite has happened--now that Oakheart is by her side, Bluefur wakes up every day with more energy and hope than the day before. His only concern now is that she’ll work herself to death searching for their son. 

“Nah, that won’t work. You know how ShadowClan is. They won’t let a kitnapped cat near the border. And we can’t just ask them. They’ll interpret any question as a direct threat.” 

“Then what do you suggest we do?” asks Bluefur, her eyes narrowed in thoughtful determination.

Oakheart thinks for a moment, ideas flitting through his thoughts like minnows. A show of force would never work, as Brokenstar’s warriors are too fierce for a head-on attack consisting of just ThunderClan warriors. They’d need assistance from another Clan in order to have any hope of defeating ShadowClan, but RiverClan is out of the question as per Oakheart’s ban from interacting with his former Clanmates. Maybe WindClan could help?

He voices this idea to Bluefur, but she shakes her head. “If we attack them, they might hurt Firekit.”

Oakheart nods. “Okay,” he mews, “What do you think?”

Bluefur’s tail twitches back and forth. “Maybe Sunstar can mention it at the Gathering. They can’t attack us there, after all, and even if Brokenstar lies, one of the queens might be able to help us. They’ve had kits of their own. I’m sure they disagree with the kitnapping.” 

Oakheart grins. “That’s a great idea! But…” his heart sinks, “We’re not allowed to go to Gatherings.” Another term of the stupid probation.

Thrushpelt, who has been not-so-subtly listening in throughout the entire conversation on account of his guard duty, mews, “I am. Maybe I could help?”

“Yes!” exclaims Oakheart. “That is an amazing idea, Thrushpelt.”

Usually Oakheart wouldn’t be so nice to a tom who clearly _likes_ his mate, but upon finding out that the brown tabby would be guarding and teaching him, had decided upon a tactic other than hostility; kill him with unrelenting kindness! So far, it’s been working perfectly.

“Yeah,” mutters Thrushpelt uncomfortably. “Thanks. I’ll just...tell Sunstar, then.”

“Thanks!” calls Bluefur.

Thrushpelt twitches his tail in acknowledgement and continues on to Sunstar’s den.

***

“Voila!” exclaims Princess. “This is my nest!”

“Wow!” enthuses Rusty. He’s never seen such a big den before! The entire ShadowClan camp would look small sitting next to this monstrous structure. He uses a hind leg to scratch his shredded ear--the product of many, many punishments. “This is all yours?”

“No, silly!” responds Princess. “My mother, father, and housefolk live here, too.”

“You have a mother and father?” demands Rusty jealously. He can vaguely remember having those, moons ago, but the memories are faint and nonspecific. Tallpoppy is kind of like a mother, but she gets yelled at whenever she’s too nice to him. So that doesn’t really count.

“Of course!” responds Princess. “You can meet them! They’ll love you.”

“Maybe another day,” mews Rusty nervously. “Blackfoot will get really mad if I stay too long.”

“Why?” asks Princess curiously. “I thought you were supposed to stay until you had enough food.” 

“Well, yeah, but if that takes too long, it makes Blackfoot look like a bad mentor.” Rusty refrains from adding that this is, in fact, because Blackfoot_ is _ a bad mentor. 

“Oh,” meows Princess, looking a little crestfallen. Then she perks up. “Well, then, we can’t waste any time! Come in!” 

Princess leads Rusty to a giant slab of wood, marred only by a cat-sized hole covered with a black flap of an unidentifiable substance. “This is a door,” teaches Princess importantly, “and the hole is called a cat-flap. Follow me.”

Rusty is lead through the cat-flap into a giant den with a hard, white floor. “I’ll give you the tour,” Princess tells him.

“Quickly, please!”

“The_ quick _ tour. This room is called the garage. It’s where the house folk keep their car when they’re not using it. I guess they’re not home right now.”

Rusty opts not to ask what a car is. “Okay, what’s next?”

Princess leads them through another cat-flap into a room with a hard, wooden floor and a wall with many holes, which let in lots of sunlight. The room is full of odd structures which Rusty can not identify. “This is the kitchen,” explains Princess. “It’s where the house folk make their food.” Pointing with her tail rapidly she introduces the fridge, oven, dishwasher, and cupboards, none of which Rusty understands the purpose of.

Connected to the kitchen is what Princess calls the living room, which is full of, as Princess calls them, chairs and couches. They look awfully comfy to Rusty, but he doesn’t get a chance to test them out as Princess suddenly yells, “Mother! Father! Guess what?”

A plump molly who looks just like Princess enters the room, followed by an orange tom with green eyes who looks similar to Rusty. Both of them appear kind, but Rusty can’t suppress the urge to hide behind Princess.

“Who’s your friend, Princess?” asks the molly kindly, walking up to sniff Rusty. He tries, and ultimately fails to not cringe away from her nose. Detecting his worry, the brown tabby backs up a little.

“This is Rusty,” introduces Princess. “He’s a wild cat. But don’t worry, he’s just stopping by. He needs food so that he can go home.” 

“Oh, yes,” Rusty agrees, wanting to assure these cats that he does not intend to impose on their kindness for too long. “It’s just that Blackfoot will claw me if I come back empty-pawed, so...I’ll just take a little bit of food and be on my way, if that’s fine with you.” Then, for good measure, “You have a lovely den.”

The father and mother laugh at his last comment, although Rusty doesn’t understand what’s funny. “Princess,” says the father happily, “You’ve found a little gentle-tom!” 

Meanwhile, the mother leads him back into the kitchen. She opens up a cupboard to reveal a big bag of...something. It smells faintly like meat, but when Rusty peers inside, the little pellets look nothing like the mice and birds he’s used to catching. “This is food?” he asks.

“Of course,” responds the light brown tabby, eyes full of worry. “What do you usually eat?”

“Mice and birds and stuff,” he tells her. 

Princess’ mother looks very concerned when she hears this. “I don’t know how to catch those,” she says apologetically. “And Jake can’t really hunt around here, or else ThunderClan will chase him off. I’m afraid this is all we’ve got to offer.”

“Oh, no, this is fine!” Rusty informs her quickly, unwilling to refuse their generosity. “I bet Blackfoot will like this food just fine.”

To Rusty’s horror, this new information makes the brown tabby look even more anxious. “Who is this Blackfoot to you? Is he your father?”

“Oh, no, definitely not,” Rusty is quick to assure her. “He’s my mentor. He teaches me to hunt and fight, and stuff.”

“I see,” mews Princess’ mother, retaining her concerned facial expression. “Well, then, why don’t you take him the whole bag? Our house folk can always buy more.” Sensing his hesitation, she adds, “Princess can help you carry it.” 

“I can’t accept all of this!” Rusty all but yowls. “You’re too generous!”

Jake, Princess’ father, pads up behind him, followed by Princess. “Of course you can have it,” assures the orange tom. “I’ve met wild cats before. I know how hard it can be to find food. You need it more than we do.”

Rusty frowns at them. He doesn’t want to take advantage of his new friends, after all. “Are you sure?” he asks.

“Of course!” Princess answers. “Let’s go now. Wouldn’t want Blackfoot to claw your ear again!” 

Rusty shudders. “I guess you’re right.” Grabbing the edge of the bag with his teeth, he mews, “Thank you! I’ll pay you back as soon as possible.” 

“No need,” Jake mews. “But do come and visit! You’ll have to tell me about life in the Clans. Which one do you belong to, again?” Hopefully, he adds, “WindClan?” 

Rusty is surprised that this non-wild cat knows so much about the Clans, and, impressed, he mews, “ShadowClan. I’ll visit you soon! Thanks again!”

Princess leads him out through the garden, dragging the bag of food along behind her.

***

Blackfoot paces the camp, annoyed. His dumb apprentice should have been back an hour ago! Now, cats are going to think he’s a bad mentor, which is _clearly_ not the case. That kit will get _ such _a clawing when he returns. 

Tallpoppy sighs. “Why are you pacing this time, dear?” she asks. 

Blackfoot growls, continuing to make laps around the camp. “My apprentice should have been back by now!”

Tallpoppy looks surprised. “Are you _ worried _about him?” she asks.

“No,” snaps the deputy of ShadowClan. “Of course not. But his hunting skills reflect on me as a mentor.” 

Tallpoppy rolls her eyes. “Of course. _ That’s _what matters.”

Blackfoot feels a hot surge of anger slice through him. “It is!” he insists. “Kits are disposable. We can get more any time. _ I’m _not. I need to stay on Brokenstar’s good side if I’m to maintain any power in this StarClan-forsaken Clan.” 

The usually friendly Tallpoppy snarls. “Kits are _ not _disposable,” she hisses, light brown pelt bushing angrily. “What do you mean, you can get more any time? Is that what you think of me? Just a means of producing kits?”

“No,” Blackfoot refutes, finally pausing in his pacing. “You’re important to me. But, I mean, if this kit dies, it’ll be easy to go back to ThunderClan and get another one. If I die? ShadowClan is doomed. I’m _ important, _Tallpoppy.”

Tallpoppy’s eyes widen, and she ignores her mate’s arrogance. “What do you mean, go _back_ to ThunderClan?” 

_ Oh, fox-dung, _ thinks Blackfoot. _ She doesn’t know! _“I didn’t mean anything, dear,” he quickly mews, licking her ear affectionately in an attempt to distract the tabby queen. “Ignore that.”

Tallpoppy thinks for a moment before her eyes widen in horror. “That’s where your apprentice came from! _ You kitnapped him from ThunderClan!” _

“No, no, no, of course _ I _didn’t! Brokenstar did!” When his mate looks unconvinced, he adds, “And, really. It was for the better. They don’t know how to care for them in ThunderClan. They turn out soft.”

“What,” Tallpoppy spits, “and you_ do_ know how to take care of them? You stole him from his mother and apprenticed him when he should have been suckling from her belly! You claw his ear every time he so much as breathes in the wrong direction, but you won’t let him go to the medicine cat to treat it! Do you call that care?” 

Suddenly, horrifyingly, Brokenstar slips out from behind the nursery. He’s clearly been listening to the entire conversation. Blackfoot dips his head almost to the ground in a show of pacifying respect, and cringes anxiously when his mate doesn’t do the same. “Yes, Tallpoppy,” the leader of ShadowClan mews dangerously. “I do call that care. Blackfoot is simply ensuring the kit turns out strong. Right, Blackfoot?”

Blackfoot almost stumbles over himself to assure his leader, “Yes, Brokenstar!”

“Besides,” mews the dark brown ShadowClan leader smoothly, “They’ve forgotten him in ThunderClan. I bet nobody is looking for him. We’re his only option. Right, Blackfoot?” 

“Absolutely, Brokenstar!”

“So it would really be in his best interests _ not _to mention him to ThunderClan. Imagine if they tried to steal him back. Why, he’d be traumatized! ShadowClan is all he remembers! You don’t want that on your conscience, right, Tallpoppy?”

When the brown tabby molly doesn’t respond, Brokenstar hisses, “Because it would be in _your_ best interests, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully you found this enjoyable lol


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things happen, bro

When Brokenstar leaves the clearing, Blackfoot ignores his mate Tallpoppy to stalk into the forest. It seems that he will have to take matters into his own paws, and find his apprentice himself.

Blackfoot catches the apprentice’s scent trail with relative ease--though the snow washes away scents most of the time, ShadowClan are typically very skilled stalkers. They have to be, in order to find prey in the shadowy pine forests.

The scent trail leads all the way to the very edge of the territory, where the pine trees thin out. This place is good for small birds--maybe that’s what his apprentice is searching for. In fact, his smell here is pretty recent. “Apprentice!” he calls, a growl making its way into his voice. “Come here immediately.”

Blackfoot hears his apprentice approaching before he sees him--it sounds like he’s dragging a branch or rock behind him, scraping it against the ground with every footstep. When he finally appears from the woods beyond ShadowClan land (the area near the Twolegplace, Blackfoot notes suspiciously), he has a big pelt of something in his mouth. Though no kittypets are present, Blackfoot smells their reek as strongly as if it had smacked him.

Blackfoot bounds over to the young tom. “Apprentice!” he demands, fur bristling angrily. “What is this?”

His apprentice looks up at him fearfully, eyes full of anxiety though his tail is raised in pride. “Food!” he responds, the words muffled from his cargo. “Enough for the whole Clan. Look!”

The ginger apprentice reaches one paw into the pelt, opening it up to reveal its contents. Hard, brown little pellets fill the bag, smelling of meat and twolegs. Blackfoot is too shocked to speak, for once in his life. It seems that his apprentice has brought him kittypet slop.

“Blackfoot?” asks the little ginger tom after a moment. “You could try some, if you like. I’ve heard it’s very nutritious.”

The big black and white tom has no idea what to make of the situation. He knows he should be angry that his apprentice went into the Twolegplace without direct orders, and has the audacity to bring back twoleg food instead of prey. But, he has to admit, it's a pretty cunning move. The food he has brought back would feed the entire Clan for a half-moon at the least, and the pelt it is carried in could be useful, too. Maybe they could put the fresh-kill pile in there, to prevent it from getting dirty on the camp floor. He flicks his tail, reaching his muzzle in to try a suspicious mouthful.

The apprentice stares at him anxiously as he chews, but Blackfoot gives no reaction but a grunt. “We’ll bring this to Brokenstar,” he decides. “See what he makes of it.”

Blackfoot is shocked and appalled at himself to discover a tingle of pride running up his pelt. The kit has apparently inherited some of his mentor’s intelligence. He certainly hadn’t seen that coming. Maybe Brokenstar will agree to name him.

***

Rusty quivers with a mixture of excitement and fear as Blackfoot presents his find to Brokenstar. The ShadowClan leader observes the bag of food with a curled lip, but Rusty is reassured to see him sniff it curiously. “How did your apprentice find this kittypet food?” demands the leader in a snarl.

Blackfoot nods as though he’s been expecting the question. “He stole it from some kittypets.”

Rusty winces. Stealing wasn’t exactly the right word, but if it made Brokenstar’s approval easier to earn, he would go with it.

“Come here, apprentice,” commands Brokenstar.

Rusty steps forward obediently, bowing his head in a show of deep respect.

Brokenstar scoffs. “We do not mess with kittypets!” he snarls. “We do not go near them, we do not talk to them unless it's to threaten their worthless lives, and we do not eat their disgusting slop!” The dark brown tom finishes the statement with a brutal claw to Rusty’s face, splitting the skin and causing blood to drip to the floor. This is followed up by a routine blow to the ear. The sting hardly even registers amidst the burning pain of his cheek and muzzle. “Do you understand me?” Brokenstar spits.

Rusty nods anxiously. “Yes, Brokenstar.”

“Don’t talk to me, worm,” hisses the leader. “Get out of my sight.”

Rusty cannot obey quickly enough. He scrambles from the camp into the woods, feeling the blood drip off his whiskers. He tries to ignore it, because when he thinks about it, it hurts more. It's pretty excruciating either way, though.

He knows he needs to be strong. Act like an apprentice, not a worthless kit. Not a worm. Still, he can't help the whimper of pain that escapes him.

Where can he even go now? He has nowhere, and no one. Rusty is obviously not welcome back at camp, at least until tomorrow, and Brokenstar made it very clear what would happen if he’s seen with kittypets ever again.

He’s almost to the edge of the forest when he hears an excited mew. “Rusty! How did it go?”

It’s Princess, her whiskers quivering with excitement. Her face falls when she sees his wounds, though. “Oh my goodness!” she squeals in horror. “Did Blackfoot do that to you?”

Rusty shakes his head. “It was Brokenstar,” he answered. “And I’m really sorry, Princess, but I shouldn’t talk to you anymore. Brokenstar says--”

“Who cares what Brokenstar says, when he’s willing to claw your face like that! My house folk will know how to fix the scratch, if you come back to my den.”

“Um…” Rusty thinks for a moment. Sure, if Brokenstar catches him with the Twolegs, a scratched face will be the least of his worries. But if he’s not caught...well, his face really, really does hurt. And it might be nice to spend some time with Princess before he says goodbye forever. The only real friend he's ever had...“Okay,” he mews. “Thanks.”

“No problemo!”

The walk back to Princess’ den is long, but Rusty doesn’t notice the time slipping by as he pads along beside Princess. She never runs out of things to say, and all of them are cheery and kind. It’s wonderful to have a friend for the first time.

When they arrive, Rusty is amazed to see that the house folk do, in fact, know how to treat wounds. The tall, hairless creatures dab something onto his cuts that stings, but they stroke him as they do it and mutter kind, foriegn words. This den is so different to the ShadowClan camp. Here, everyone loves and cares for each other, and he truly feels welcome for the first time in a long time. He almost doesn’t want to leave.

When Jake offers for him to stay the night so his cut will have time to heal, he can’t be quick enough to say yes.

***

Though even the sight of the dark-ginger tom still sends Thrushpelt into a seething mess of hidden jealousy, he doesn’t regret offering to help Oakheart and Bluefur find Firekit. After all, Thrushpelt has promised many times over that he will do anything for Bluefur, and helping her find her missing son is just one of his duties. He wishes Oakheart wasn’t so friendly, though. It makes it much harder to hate him, which is already difficult--he suspects that, in a parallel universe far, far away, he and Oakheart may even have been friends. After all, the formerly-RiverClan tom treats Bluefur with the utmost respect and love, which is exactly what she deserves. But damn, if Thrushpelt doesn’t wish they could switch places.

Especially because of Firekit. His son, he muses, has been stolen from him in more ways than one. Because surely if they find him, (and Thrushpelt feels terribly guilty for thinking the word "if," but it's been moons with no trace already) Thrushpelt's stint as Firekit's father will end. And how will he bear losing his son again? He loves him. He loves playing moss-ball and hide and seek, and teaching him beginner's hunting moves to try out on unsuspecting twigs. He loves listening to the fantastic stories Firekit makes up, about things he'll do when he's a warrior or bright, colorful dreams he's had. Everything about his son--apart from the small issue of his _real _father--is perfect. Thrushpelt laughs to himself, humorlessly. He probably gets that from Oakheart. 

The night of the gathering is a cool, breezy occasion. The sky is dark and cloudless, and the moon shines brightly among the warriors of Silverpelt. Thrushpelt is nervous. What will happen if Brokenstar is hostile? What if the other Clans don’t believe their claims? Worst of all, what if Oakheart and Bluefur are wrong? What if ShadowClan don’t have Firekit and he’s actually...Thrushpelt can’t even think of the other option.

Sunstar leads his warriors down the slope into Fourtrees, his head lifted proudly despite his age. He catches Thrushpelt’s eye and smiles encouragingly, as if to tell him that everything is under control. Thrushpelt appreciates the gesture, though everything is most certainly not under control.

“Thrushpelt!” greets a skinny WindClan molly with a brown tabby pelt. “Long time, no see!”

“Morningflower!” he mews warmly, padding over to share news with his WindClan friend. “How is the prey running in your Clan?”

“Quickly,” she answers with a glint in her eye. “But we run quicker. How about ThunderClan? Any news about…” Morningflower leans in and winks, eyebrows raised conspiratorially. “...Bluefur?”

Thrushpelt groans. “Don’t make me talk about it,” he begs.

“Alright, alright,” the WindClan queen agrees sympathetically. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

A splotchy gray tom pads over to Morningflower, purring and nuzzling her. “Hi,” he mews, friendly. “I’m Cloudrunner.”

“My mate,” Morningflower explains happily.

“Wow,” Thrushpelt says, not in the mood to discuss mates for even a second longer. “Nice to meet you. I have to go...talk...to...RiverClan.”

Morningflower nods, clearly too caught up in Cloudrunner to notice Thrushpelt leaving. “You do that!” she calls.

Thrushpelt begins to make his way over to Leopardfur, the daughter of the RiverClan medicine cat, but halts as he hears a yowl from the Great Rock. It’s Brokenstar, the leader of ShadowClan and potential kitnapper. “Let the Gathering begin!” he howls, grabbing the attention of every cat in the hollow.

Thrushpelt sits down by Leopardfur to listen, eyes narrowed distrustfully.

“ShadowClan is thriving,” boasts the dark brown tabby tom. “We have more apprentices and kits than we know how to handle. Their fighting skills are very advanced for their ages.”

“Great,” mews Crookedstar. “RiverClan has been--”

“I’m not done,” interrupts Brokenstar, lashing his bent tail angrily. “Due to our overabundance of young cats, we require extra territory to ensure every cat is well-fed.” He turns his gaze to Crookedstar and purrs raspily, the sound threatening. “Crookedstar. We all know your Clan loves to fish in the river, leaving all of the land-prey unhunted. It goes to waste. ShadowClan could greatly benefit from it. Let us hunt on your territory.”

Crookedstar’s warriors explode in protest, but the light brown leader himself does not respond for a moment. His green eyes--very much like Firekit’s, Thrushpelt notices--are narrowed in thought. “My Clan will consider your request. You will have your answer within the next moon.”

Brokenstar spits angrily. “And what are my Clan to do until then?” he demands. “Starve? We will not take no for an answer, Crookedstar.”

“You may have to,” Sunstar cuts in. “I have an accusation to make of ShadowClan that may change how you think of them, Crookedstar.”

Brokenstar does not react, but Crookedstar and Tallstar lean in eagerly. Thrushpelt does, too, along with many cats of the different Clans.

“A couple of moons ago,” Sunstar begins as Brokenstar yawns boredly, “Bluefur and Thrushpelt's son disappeared from the nursery. We caught ShadowClan scent around our camp, but wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt. So, ThunderClan warriors searched every inch of our territory, as well as some of the unclaimed land behind it. A RiverClan warrior has confirmed that they do not have the kit, and for WindClan to have stolen him, they’d have needed to cross through RiverClan territory--which the RiverClan warrior assures us they have not. There were no scents of fox, badger, dog, or twoleg. This leaves one option.”

He lets the story sink in for a moment before yowling, “ShadowClan kitnapped Firekit!”

“Are you done mewling, elder?” spits Brokenstar when the yowls of horror have died down. “You have no proof.”

“Oh, yes?” snarls the young ThunderClan warrior Tigerclaw. “How about we march into your camp and find some! With our claws!”

Howls of approval sound from three out of the four Clans. “You wouldn’t attack on a Gathering night!” Clawface of ShadowClan retorts.

Tigerclaw marches up to Clawface and sticks his muzzle into the other cat’s personal space. “Do you want to bet?” he hisses.

“Calm down!” Crookedstar demands. “This is a Gathering!”

When most of the cats have piped down, much to Thrushpelt’s relief, Tallstar approaches Brokenstar. “If you didn’t steal the kit, where do you wager he went?”

Brokenstar scoffs. “As if I know! Heprobably just got so sick of living with you softhearted fools, he got up and walked out! My concern is my own Clan. Come on, ShadowClan!” he snaps. “We’re leaving.”

As ShadowClan begins to retreat, a tabby queen locks eyes with Thrushpelt. “You’re Bluefur’s mate, right?” she whispers anxiously, glancing around to make sure no ShadowClan cats are listening. "Thrushpelt?"

Thrushpelt growls. What is it with these cats and Bluefur? he wonders. “What’s it to you, kitnapper?”

She gestures for him to come closer with her tail. “Don’t tell Brokenstar I told you, but we had your son. He ran away one night ago.”

Thrushpelt’s eyes widen, but before he can respond, the queen is dashing away, up the slope. “Wait!” he calls. “What’s your name?”

She turns around to gaze at him sadly. “I shouldn’t tell you,” she mews. “I hope you find him.”

Then, she disappears with the rest of her Clanmates up the slope.

***

Tallstar is pensive as he leads his cats away from the troubled Gathering. Brokenstar has finally shown his true colors, and Tallstar can’t say he likes it. He had always known the ShadowClan leader was dangerous, but this…well, kitnapping is a whole new level of atrocious.

As he leads his Clan home, he talks quietly to Deadfoot about the potential danger. “All of our kits are safe?” asks the WindClan leader for the third time.

“Yes, Tallstar,” responds the deputy, never losing patience. They walk behind the rest of the Clan, partially to keep watch and partially for privacy. “None of the queens have reported any missing.”

“What of RiverClan?” asks Tallstar. “Are any of their kits missing?”

“I spoke to Leopardfur after the Gathering ended. She said they were all safe.”

“Then it’s just ThunderClan being targeted,” Tallstar muses. “And I hear their nursery is full now. I spoke to a queen—they’ve got four young kits right now.”

Deadfoot nods before taking a moment to think. “ShadowClan shares a border with the Twolegplace, as well as ThunderClan and us. Do you think they might steal kittypet kits?”

Oh, foxdung. “That’s a thought,” Tallstar agrees, flicking his tail nervously. All he can think of is Jake.

After Tallstar’s return to WindClan after his and Jake’s journey, he and his favorite kittypet have spoke only once. During this brief meeting, around six moons ago, which took place near Barley’s barn, Jake had begged for Tallstar’s forgiveness. He had taken a new mate and was preparing for the kits she would soon bear.

Tallstar had initially been heartbroken at Jake’s betrayal, but he has since realized that whatever makes Jake happy, makes Tallstar happy. He knows they will never have the chance to be together, so Jake is perfectly free to take another mate. Tallstar just hopes she treats him as well as he deserves. And, of course, he was just born to be a father. That's something Tallstar couldn't give him. 

But, that’s all in the past. The issue right now is that Jake has kits, and ShadowClan has kitnappers. What if Brokenstar steals Jake’s kits?

It’s then decided. Tallstar must visit Jake to warn him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long! Hope you all enjoy!
> 
> (Not much actual progress happens in this chapter, but eh. It sets up for the progress, which comes next.)

Bluefur is unable to sleep all night—she’s too worried about her son. What news will Thrushpelt bring? She knows it’s silly, but some part of her prays that Thrushpelt has found him already.

“I can _ hear _ you thinking,” complains Oakheart, nestled beside her. The moonlight filtering through the leaves of the den dapples his ginger pelt with light. He’s so handsome. _ So was Firekit. _

Bluefur’s temper sizzles to the surface. “Silly me,” she mews sarcastically, “there’s absolutely no reason to be concerned! I’ll just go right to sleep.”

“Hey.” Oakheart lifts up his head to gaze evenly into her eyes. “It’ll be okay. We’ll find him.”

She opens her mouth to respond, but is interrupted by the sound of rustling bushes and quick pawsteps as her Clanmates bound into camp. 

“Bluefur!” calls Thrushpelt. He sounds eager. “Come here! There’s news!”

Bluefur speeds out of the den like a bolt of lightning, Oakheart on her tail. Thrushpelt has called from atop the Highrock, where he and Sunstar are ready for a meeting. When she and Oakheart join them on the rock, Thrushpelt does a little sideways glance and says flatly, “You brought Oakheart.”

Bluefur thinks it would be imprudent to remind the brown tabby tom that Oakheart is Firekit’s father.

Sunstar flicks a gray-tipped ear at Thrushpelt. Clearly a warning. “Thrushpelt,” he mews, “tell Bluefur and Oakheart what you learned.”

***

Princess perks up when she hears her name called. She’s a morning type of cat, typically rising before her parents or housefolk, so she’s always excited when the rest of her family wakes up. That means an end to her boredom. That means _ fun. _Especially now that Rusty is with them! 

Her parents had agreed to let her new friend stay the night twice in a row, which is totally exciting. Though the cut on his face had healed quickly, his ear had been the subject of constant abuse and is taking a little longer. Princess is totally excited to see what kind of scar her friend will have. It will look so cool and grown-up. 

“Yes, father?” she responds when the ginger tom calls her name for a second time.

Princess’ parents are gathered in the kitchen, having clearly just finished their breakfasts. “Did you sleep well?” asks her mother.

“Yup!” she purrs. “Where’s Rusty? I want to play.”

Though just a few days ago she would never have admitted to enjoying a good playtime, having a kit around her age seems to bring out the fun in Princess. Today, she hopes to show him her toy mouse. 

“He’s still sleeping,” her mother mews gently, “and we’d like to talk to you about him before he wakes up.”

“Oh,” says Princess. She’s a little confused. Are her parents going to kick Rusty out? They wouldn’t do that, right?

Jake seems to sense his daughter’s worry, because he reassures her, “It’s nothing bad. We just wanted to know a bit about where he lives.” 

Princess scowls, suddenly angry on Rusty’s behalf. “It sounds _ horrible,” _she describes emphatically. “They all sleep out in the forest, and sometimes they get fleas, and they’re always fighting each other.”

“They have to hunt for food?” prompts her mother.

“Yeah!” agrees the young brown tabby. “And if Rusty doesn’t bring back enough food, he gets clawed! Except also if he takes too long hunting it, he gets clawed. And if Blackfoot doesn’t like the food, or it’s wet, or something. Then he gets _ extra _ clawed.” Princess lashes her tail. She wonders how _ Blackfoot _would like getting attacked like that every day, and laments the fact that her own claws are too tiny to do any real damage.

Princess’ father frowns, which is an odd look on his friendly, usually cheerful face. “Does that happen often?”

Princess nods and adds, “And they don’t ever let him rest to feel better after.”

“We got that impression,” agrees her mother, looking sad for the sake of her daughter’s friend. She looks to Jake, who nods, as if they’ve telepathically come to some conclusion together. They each wear the same look of kind determination. 

“Princess,” asks her father, “How would you feel if we asked Rusty to live with us? Would that be okay with you?” 

A pause while the request sets in. Then: “That would be _ so awesome _ !” exclaims the young tabby, flicking her tail in uncontainable excitement. “Can I tell him? Can I tell him now? No, wait, we should _ all _ tell him! Let’s go!” Princess has scarcely felt more excited in her life. She’ll have her very own _ brother! _ She loves her parents and all, but they aren’t much fun when it comes to chasing toy mice or exploring new and exciting cupboards. Not to mention, she already knows how much Rusty will love to live with them. She feels like she might burst with anticipation. “ _ RUSTY!” _ yowls Princess, bounding off to find him.

***

In the ShadowClan camp, Tallpoppy paces anxiously. She seems to have picked up this habit from Blackfoot, and though she’s dumped her ex-mate like a sack of old crowfood, she can’t seem to drop the urge to pace circles round camp whenever she’s worried.

She’s terrified she’ll get caught for exposing ShadowClan’s inside information to Thrushpelt. Brokenstar has spies everywhere, Tallpoppy knows, and though it had _ seemed _safe at the time, in hindsight her treason looks much more dangerous. 

Except, the thing is, she can’t regret it. Because every time she replays the night in her mind, she sees Thrushpelt’s handsome, worried face and thinks of her own kits. How would Tallpoppy feel if one of _ her _ sons had been kitnapped? No matter what Brokenstar or Blackfoot say, no matter the justification, there is never a reason to take a kit if he has a loving family.

She desperately hopes he’s safe wherever he ran off to. When it had initially become clear that the kit wasn’t coming back, Tallpoppy had hoped he’d made it back to his own family. And when it had become clear that this wasn’t the case and he wasn’t with any of the Clans, she had hoped he’d found somewhere nice in Twolegplace or maybe with some friendly rogues or loners. She wishes she could communicate with him, wherever he is, but she’s already in the doghouse with Brokenstar for having doubted his leadership. She will have to toe the line very carefully from now on…

Very careful indeed. When she's done pacing, she uses her long, plumy tail to sweep the evidence of paw steps from the camp's fresh snow. Tallpoppy heads into her den. No cat need ever know she's been outside.

***

The thing is, Tallstar doesn’t actually know where Jake’s twoleg nest is. It has been years since he’s been there, of course, and though he has deduced that it’s east of WindClan’s teritory, that’s about as much as he knows.

He could ask around in ThunderClan next time he sees them, but though their territory borders the Twolegplace, he doubts any of them will be of much help. Of all the Clans, the two who live in the forest are particularly hostile when it comes to house cats. If they’ve seen Jake long enough to remember him, it’s probably because they've spent an afternoon beating him up.

Tallstar could go two Twolegplace himself to ask around, but there are three three issues that inhibit this course of action:

One: He is a very scary wild cat, and few kittypets would be brave enough to talk to him, let alone stay outside in his presence.

Two: Twolegplace is huge! He could ask around for days and never meet Jake or anyone who knows him. 

Three: He is the leader of a Clan, for StarClan’s sake! He can’t just go gallivanting off for who knows how long in order to reconnect with his old kittypet mate! Who, he must remind himself, is with a she-cat now! Who has kits! Who is probably way too busy for him, and prefers his female mate, and _ no, Tallstar is _ not _ jealous _ or _ upset. _

Thinking about the issue only depresses the black and white tomcat, so in the end, he decides _ not _to think about it. He’ll let StarClan figure it out when he goes to the Moonstone to talk to them. 

“Say, Deadfoot,” he calls to his deputy. The black cat limps over to him faster than a non WindClan cat would think possible. “Do you think we have time to go to the Moonstone?” 

“Like, tomorrow, or a few days from now? I’m sure we could clear up a few cats’ schedules to form a patrol.”

“I thought, maybe, now,” responds Tallstar, flicking his long tail. 

“Wha--buh--why_ now?” _demands Deadfoot, taken aback.

“StarClan summons me!” proclaims the leader of WindClan. “Who are we to deny them their wishes!” Bounding away, he cries, “Let’s _ go!” _

They’re on their way to the Moonstone.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tallstar, no!
> 
> Tallstar, yes.

So, there are two very important factors preventing Crookedstar from submitting to Brokenstar’s demands regarding the hunting territory by the river. Three, actually, if you count Crookedstar’s personal feelings (which he doesn’t, really. Not since Oakheart left).

The first is the whole kitnapping situation. If RiverClan allies themselves with ShadowClan, WindClan and ThunderClan (who have aligned themselves together _ very successfully _ in the past _ ) _would think Crookedstar condones the abduction of children, which he doesn’t. They might attack if that happened, and the leader of RiverClan is by no means naive enough to expect any help from Brokenstar if that happens.

Reason two is that, as much shame as Crookedstar feels to admit it, RiverClan is not doing too hot. Literally--the river has frozen over and they’re all very, very cold. The cats by the river been surviving so far by finding weak spots in the ice, poking holes through, and grabbing the fish that swim by, but this is much less effective than their usual hunting methods and they’ve already lost an elder to starvation. It won’t be long until Crookedstar’s _ warriors _begin to drop, too, and if ShadowClan steals what little food they have left, they will all be dead in less than a moon.

The third reason, which Crookedstar hates to admit even to himself, is that he’s scared of Brokenstar. Sure, apart from the accusations flung by ThunderClan, the ShadowClan leader hasn’t done anything _ too _terrible, but, well, rumors circulate fast in the Clans. And Raggedstar’s sudden demise seems more than a little suspicious to Crookedstar.

So now, Crookedstar and the rest of RiverClan are in a pickle. They can either submit to Brokenstar and die of starvation, fight Brokenstar and get murdered, or do nothing and die in some new, cool, mysterious way. Maybe frostbite.

Either way, RiverClan is toast. (But not literally, because they’re so damn cold they’re the _ opposite _of toast! Why is life so hard!?). Crookedstar curls up in his freezing cold nest, watching his breath billow before him in the sharp air as he sighs. Even the cozy leader’s den has been infiltrated by the terrible leaf-bare. If this continues, he’ll have to move into the warrior’s den.

He huffs grumpily. He doesn’t _ want _ to move! But it might be the only way…

Crookedstar’s tan ears perk up. Moving.

_ Moving! _

He knows how to save RiverClan! He’ll just need to visit Brokenstar to broker a deal...one he’s sure the leader of ShadowClan will like very much.

***

In all honesty, Tallstar probably could have selected a better time to make the day-long journey to the Moonstone. He can smell fresh snow on the cold winds that batter him and his deputy as they walk, and if he were allowed to eat, he would be very annoyed at the lack of prey along the road.

He’s sure Deadfoot must be suffering in the biting weather, but like usual, the stalwart deputy says nothing as he dutifully follows Tallstar. He smiles to himself--he really is lucky to have such a good second-in-command.

Tallstar shakes out his pelt a moment later, his expression becoming solemn once more. It’s impossible to forget the grim cause of their expedition; and, Tallstar admits to himself, the disappointment it will probably lead to. Even if StarClan show him where to find Jake, there’s every chance the ginger tom will want nothing to do with Tallstar. And where would he be then?

When they finally reach the gargantuan pile of stone that makes up Mothermouth, both cats are panting from the exertion of the trip. The moon is high in the sky.

“Deadfoot,” instructs Tallstar at the lip of the tunnel, “you may hunt while I share with StarClan. Be careful, though; this is unfamiliar territory.”

Deadfoot nods respectfully. “Yes, Tallstar,” he says, slipping away to find some prey in the sparse shrubbery that dots the rocks.

Tallstar takes a deep breath and steels himself to enter the tunnel. When he does, it’s impossibly colder than usual--and darker, too. He can hardly see his whiskers in front of him. By the time he makes it to the wide Moonstone cavern, even his bones feel chilled. That’s probably just ‘cause he’s old, though. Aging sucks.

The leader of WindClan sucks in a deep breath when the moon hits the crystal Moonstone and the cave is filled with bright, blinding light. He lies down, screws his eyes shut, and presses his nose to the illuminated rock.

Suddenly, the stone beneath him falls away. His belly swoops as his eyes soar open in surprise; he's flying high in the sky, just under the moody cover of clouds. Beneath him lays a jumble of twisting thunderpaths, huge wooden dens, and shiny monsters. The twolegplace. In the corner of his eye, he can spot ThunderClan's territory--so this must be the Twolegplace by the forest. Tallstar realizes eagerly that StarClan must be showing him where Jake lives.

Just when he feels he's accustomed to the strange sensation of flight, he swoops lower until he is hovering over a small section of the Twolegplace. Surrounding a curved, dead-ended thunderpath are four or five twoleg dens. _This must be like a camp for them_, Tallstar thinks. 

And he is falling lower still, until he rests in the sky above a single den. In the garden play two kits--one small one looks uncannily similar to Jake.

The air beneath Tallstar rushes away again and he seems to descend through the ceiling of the den, falling slowly until he finally lands in a huge room with shiny floors and big, soft looking rocks. One one of these comfortable boulders rests a plump tabby queen, and across from her on the other rock, snores a heartbreakingly familiar orange tom.

Heart pounding, Tallstar calls softly, "Jake?"

There is no response. Gasping, Tallstar's eyes fly open. He is alone by the moonstone once more.

***

Deadfoot is casually enjoying a scrawny shrew when his leader bounds out of the Mothermouth tunnel. “Hi, Tallstar,” he greets casually, shoving his shrew forward in an offer to share.

Tallstar gratefully takes a bite and passes it back to his deputy, who asks, “How was it? Not too cold, I hope.”

“_Really_ cold,” Tallstar tells Deadfoot. “Tolerable, though. I’m glad we made this trip.”

The two tomcats scoot closer together to share warmth in the freezing leaf-bare night. As they finish the shrew, Tallstar says, “You know, Deadfoot, you’re a good travelling companion.”

“Oh,” mews Deadfoot, startled despite himself. He licks his chest self-consciously. “Thank you, Tallstar.”

The black and white tom smiles. “That’s why you get to come with me on my next trip, too.”

Deadfoot holds in a horrified exclamation (he’s tired, for StarClan’s sake!) and asks in a hopefully calm voice, “Where? And when?” He consoles himself with the thought that Tallstar will be too exhausted from tonight’s journey to want to go anywhere else any time soon. No, WindClan’s leader probably is referring to some plan that will take place moons from now.

“Twolegplace,” Tallstar informs him cheerfully. “And I was thinking we could go to tomorrow.”

Deadfoot is appalled. “Tallstar, _ no!” _

“That’s where StarClan told me to go! And they said it was horribly urgent.”

“And they said that _ I, _specifically, had to accompany you?”

“No,” mews Tallstar mischievously. “_ I _said that.”

Deadfoot shakes his head and buries his face in his paws. “Of course you did.” His voice is muffled.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BY THE WAY GUYS  
I added a short scene to the last chapter because I wasn't quite happy with it. It is optional to read though of course :) hope you like this one

"Fight _harder!"_ snaps Brokenstar. "Use your claws!"

Badgerpaw squeals, "Yes, Brokenstar!" and rakes Littlepaw's face with a well-aimed swipe. Brokenstar nods approvingly.

"Good, Badgerpaw," he compliments. "Littlepaw, you need to learn to be faster." Sliding out his claws, Brokenstar meows, "Allow me to demonstrate."

This is not the first time Littlepaw has let himself be defeated easily, and Brokenstar is about at the end of his rope with the unskilled apprentice. ShadowClan does not tolerate such talentless fighting. But, the leader sighs to himself as Badgerpaw scuttles out of the way, that's the way it is sometimes. Some apprentices just take a lot more, tougher training. Which, of course, is what Brokenstar is there for. He hates to brag, but the dark brown tom prides himself upon being the forest's best mentor.

Brokenstar crouches in front of the terrified apprentice and lashes his tail. "I'm going to leap at you," he informs Littlepaw."You are to dodge and claw me in any way you can. If you draw blood on the first try, you get first pick of the fresh-kill pile."

Littlepaw's eyes widen. He slides out his claws. "Thanks, Brokenstar!"

Brokenstar smugly puffs out his chest. "But if you fail, I will continue to attack you until you are either unconscious or have successfully drawn blood."

Both apprentices gasp. "But--" begins one.

Brokenstar leaps. Just as he's predicted, Littlepaw is too slow, and his dodge is clumsy at best. His claws rake ineffectually through his leader's thick, matted fur (He never grooms for this specific purpose). "Uh-oh," growls the dark brown tabby tom. "Too slow." He grabs the tabby apprentice's shoulder with his teeth, dragging him across the ground before drawing him in for a clawing. The apprentice is too easy. He doesn't even fight back--he only squirms and squeals as Brokenstar's claws tear up his chest. "Fight back!" he snarls.

Littlepaw doesn't even last another minute against the barrage of attacks, falling unconscious when Brokenstar picks him up by the scruff and throws him to the soft forest floor. He scoffs angrily; such a soft apprentice! Back in his day, such incompetence would have never been tolerated. He stalks out of the clearing, leaving Badgerpaw to gape at his retreating form in horror. "I hope you've learned something from this," he tells the gray apprentice.

Badgerpaw nods hastily.

_Good, _thinks Brokenstar. _Now _there's _an apprentice that will grow up strong._

He strolls at a leisurely pace through the forest, eager to get back to his den--Brokenstar has definitely earned himself a nap. He doesn't get one, though. When he arrives back at camp, he is met by a ring of snarling ShadowClan warriors. 

"Brokenstar!" Blackfoot greets, bounding up to speak to his leader. "Crookedstar and some RiverClan warriors are here. They say they need to talk to you about what you said at the gathering."

Brokenstar grins, bushing up his pelt for maximum scariness. "Good," he tells Blackfoot. Strolling into the ring of angry warriors, he almost wants to laugh at the pathetic group they are surrounding. The usually-plump RiverClan warriors are skinny, with matted, tattered pelts and dull eyes. Crookedstar stands proudly at the center as if he's unaware how terrible he looks.

"Brokenstar," he says, voice brittle but proud. "I have come to discuss an arrangement that I think you will like very much."

"Oh?" asks the leader of ShadowClan.

Swallowing painfully, Crookedstar begins, "Now that the river is frozen, my Clan is struggling to find food. We have been," he discreetly winces, "struggling to find alternate methods of hunting. We thought it would be advantageous for both Clans if, while the river was frozen, RiverClan sheltered with your Clan. We would help with your duties and learn to hunt the forest. In exchange, while leaf-bare lasts, you could have full control of RiverClan territory."

Brokenstar's eyes widen gleefully. "You're offering to give me RiverClan for the winter? Your warriors _and _your territory?" His tail twitches eagerly. Around him mill the warriors of ShadowClan, all murmuring amongst themselves with bushed fur and excited eyes.

Crooked star opens his mouth to protest. "Not _give--"_ he starts.

"Because if that was not the agreement," Brokenstar interrupts, "I don't think I would be able to agree."

The RiverClan warriors surrounding Crookedstar look worried. One of them, a small molly with a lifeless black pelt, whispers something into his ear, but he dismisses her with a wave of his tail. "Only while the leaf-bare lasts," the light brown tabby clarifies, looking nervous.

Brokenstar smiles and licks his lips. "Of course."

"Then we agree," Crookedstar tells him. His shoulders are hunched in defeat. "I will bring my cats at sun-high tomorrow."

"See that you aren't late," Brokenstar instructs as Crookedstar leads the ragged band of cats through the camp's tunnel. There is no response.

Purring deeply, Brokenstar prances across the clearing to his nest. He's gained control of an entire Clan, and he didn't even have to try that hard! Now he's _really _earned that nap!

***

"Catch!" yowls Princess, using her paw to bat a soft toy across the garden. Rusty leaps off the fence and catches the little mouse in midair, grinning madly.

"Did'ja see that, Princess?" he demands once he's on all four paws again. He drops the mouse and tosses it across the snowy lawn with the swipe of a paw. 

Kittypet life had been hard to adjust to at first. The food wasn't as good and the floors were really slippery. Not to mention the lack of real freedom. But it was much better than living in ShadowClan. Rusty's ear has stopped hurting for the first time he can remember, and though he wishes the scar was less obvious, Princess says it looks super cool and he takes her word for it. 

Princess is one of the things that makes his new lifestyle fun. Back in the dismal forests of ShadowClan, Rusty had always wanted a real-life sister, and now that he has one, it is everything he had hoped for and more. She has all sorts of fun toys and always knows how to make him feel better when he's sad.

Princess' mother is great, too--she's nurturing in a way Tallpoppy never could be. She always asks how his day was when he comes back inside after long hours of play, and grooms the snow out of his fur with gentle strokes of her tongue.

But Princess' _father_ is the best. Jake looks just like Rusty except bigger and much more handsome, and he never runs out of fun stories about his days on the run or the times before he had met Princess' mother. He can make any cat laugh, anytime. And he understands about Clan life more than Princess or her mother combined. He's the only one who really comprehends what Rusty went through.

And so, although he never says so out loud, sometimes Rusty wishes Jake was really his father. Because he knows he wasn't born in ShadowClan--he can still remember vague flashes of the journey through the snowy forest that brought him there. To Rusty, there are two ways he could have ended up in the Clan's custody: either his parents didn't want him and gave him to Brokenstar (the thought of this makes him very sad) or when Brokenstar came to take him, his parents didn't fight hard enough (this thought also makes him sad, albeit less so). Either way, whatever parents he'd been born to couldn't have been as cool as Jake.

And there he is now! Rusty bounds over to the big orange tom. "Did you see that catch?" he demands.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tallstar, Jake, and social interaction... an interesting combination.

“JAKE!” hollers a voice from the living room. A moment passes, then, “JAAAAKE!”

Princess, still groggy from her interrupted sleep, opens her eyes to slits and shakes out her fur. Rusty, much as she loves the little idiot, has an unfortunate habit of waking up at the crack of dawn. Or earlier, depending on the day. And of course, if _ he’s _ awake, then _ everyone _has to be. Still, she's a morning cat, and she supposes that the earlier they get up, the more time they have to play. 

“What?” Princess’ father finally responds, stretching. He’d slept on the couch that night, but since he’s much more accustomed to early mornings than Princess or her mother, he hops off the sofa gracefully to go to Rusty. “Everything okay?”

“Yup,” Rusty responds, leaping up to meet Jake. He receives a gentle lick to the head and purrs loudly. “I just wondered if you could tell us a story.”

“What _ us?” _Jake asks, theatrically looking around the room in search of some other cat. “You’re the only one here!”

“There’s Princess, mouse-brain!” Rusty bounds over to his sister, who is perserverently feigning sleep. She refuses to wake up before the sun for the third time in a row, especially for the sake of a story she’s probably already heard three times.

“Princess is sleeping, though!” Jake protests.

“No she’s not!”

Damn him, he’s too good. He’s seen through Princess’ tricks! She’ll just have to fake-sleep harder. She releases a carefully calculated snore. It must have been effective--she can hear her father laughing. Probably at Rusty.

“How about after breakfast?” Jake suggests. “Give her some time to wake up, we’ll eat, and _ then _it can be storytime?”

“_Fine,” _Rusty grumbles. Princess dares to open her eyes, just a crack, and can see him smile and bound up to Jake for a nuzzle. “Thanks.”

“Don’t wake your sister,” he warns before padding into the kitchen in search of his bowl.

“I won’t!” says Rusty.

Princess expects this is a ploy--Rusty will just wait for Jake to leave the room, then pounce on her. But, through her barely-open eyes, she can see that her brother doesn’t appear to be plotting anything. He stands sentry beside her nest, observantly turning his head every now and then. Almost like he's guarding her...

So it’s probably safe to sleep, then. Princess re-closes her eyes.

A voice sounds from the sofa, soft and feminine. It’s Princess’ mother. “Good morning, Rusty!”

“Good morning,” he responds in a cheerful, very quiet voice. Then, as an afterthought, “Shh! Princess is trying to sleep!”

“Oh,” says her mother. “I see!” She makes that noise she always makes when she’s trying not to laugh--a sort of muffled purring. “Well, I’ll just be in the kitchen, then.”

Her pawsteps softly pad away until they can no longer be heard, and then the only sound is the strange rumbling of the heater (what the purpose of _ that _ is, Princess will never know) and the soft swishing of Rusty’s tail against the floor.

Princess attempts to go back to sleep, but by then it’s too late. She’s totally, irreparably awake. So after a minute more of lazy relaxation, she opens her eyes for real and stretches each of her legs in turn. “Good morning, Rusty!” she purrs as if she hadn’t heard the whole conversation.

His eyes light up. “Good morning! Jake’s gonna tell us a story! After breakfast! So eat quickly! Come _ on!” _With that, he bounds off into the kitchen, glancing behind him periodically to make sure Princess is following.

Princess loves the kitchen. The fragrant smells and wide-open windows always fill her with a strange sort of joy, like she’s somehow free but safe at the same time. If she wanted, she could escape through one of those windows. Every now and then she toys with the idea, but she knows she’s happiest with her family. Especially now that the family includes a little brother.

When she had first met him, on the border of ShadowClan's forest, he had been a serious, haunted cat. He didn't really joke around. He didn't even really know how to play. But after a few weeks of fun relaxation with Princess' family and housefolk, Rusty is like a different cat. He likes to wake up early and tell cool stories and come up with awesome new games. He's adorably protective of Princess and her mother, and he obviously adores Jake.

Princess pads up to her parents, who are eating their hard-pellet breakfasts. “Good morning,” she tells each of them with a lick to the ear.

“Good morning,” they both respond, their voices muffled from chewing.

Rusty has inexplicably already finished his breakfast, taking a record speed of around four seconds flat, and is sitting beside his empty bowl, bouncing gently with excitement. Princess knows how much he loves Jake’s stories, but this level of enthusiasm is surprising. She guesses it’s because he misses life in the forest. Not enough to go back, though, she thinks with selfish relief. 

One time, she’d asked him about ShadowClan life. Princess didn’t want to say it, but she’d been feeling a little insecure about her happy little twolegplace life--she wasn’t sure if Rusty preferred it to his rugged forest roots. So, in the middle of a rousing backyard catch-the-sparrow session, she’d popped the question. “What was it like in ShadowClan?”

Rusty had shuddered, so Princess had quickly backtracked. “I mean, you don’t need to talk about it,” she assured him. “I’m just curious.”

Rusty had thoughtfully frowned. “I don’t mind,” he’d told her slowly. “Just thinking.” After a moment, he continued. “I liked parts of it. The forest could be really beautiful. Hunting prey was fun, when I did it by myself instead of for Blackfoot. There was this sense of--this sense of freedom.”

Princess had nodded attentively, but she sensed the unsaid _ but. _

“But,” he’d continued, “a lot of the time it sucked. Blackfoot and Brokenstar were mean. I knew I wasn’t really wanted there. And I missed,” he swallowed nervously, “I missed my parents, sometimes. Even though I didn’t know them, I just thought, they had to exist, right? And maybe one day they’d come and find me. Sometimes I can remember--little things. My mother had the most beautiful blue eyes...”

Princess had put her head atop her brother’s, pulling him in for a close embrace. She felt, somehow, jealous. Which was a terrible thing to feel, obviously, because Rusty had just described how awful his life was. But. Was it wrong for her to hope his parents never found him? And he could just live the rest of his life with Princess’ happy family? She elected not to voice these thoughts, except to ask, “Do you still wish that?”

Rusty had been silent for a moment. “Sometimes,” he admitted quietly. “But. I. I guess _ your _ parents are sort of like my parents now? And I love them. So if my real parents ever came here, I’d just… I don’t know. I’d want them to stay, or something, so I could have _ all _of my parents together, you know?”

Princess had nodded, and then they’d been called in for dinner, so the conversation had ended there. But she still thinks about it a lot. And so she figures that maybe, when Rusty asks Jake for a story about the forest or his journey long ago, it reminds him of the good parts of his former life. And how can she begrudge him that?

Jake chews and swallows the last mouthful of breakfast before padding over to where Rusty and Princess wait. “I guess I promised you a story?” he offers.

“Yes! You did!” Rusty reminds him enthusiastically. “One about your journey, please!”

“Okay,” Jake says thoughtfully. “Let me remember a good one.” Princess and Rusty wait silently for a moment or two before Jake nods. “Yup. That’s the one. Okay.” He gathers Princess and Rusty closer to him with his tail before beginning, when they’re comfortably seated beside him. “It was the beginning of the journey. I had just left my twolegplace that very day… or the day before. I forget. But it was the beginning either way. And Talltail and I--I’ve told you about Talltail, right?--were making our way through these hills. Tall, and covered in grass and bushes and trees. And we were looking for some food, right? But right when I was about to make this amazing catch, boom! I heard a growling from the bushes.” Jake always loved to do cool voices for his stories, so he imitated the snarling. “It was a fox!”

Rusty gasped. “A fox?” he demanded.

“Yup,” Jake confirmed. “A big, red fox. And it wanted to fight! But Talltail was a trained warrior, and I was just a natural-born fighter. So we took it on! I remember it was--”

“It was one of the best fights I ever fought,” interrupts an unfamiliar voice. Princess, Jake, and Rusty all snap their gazes up to one of the open kitchen windows, where there sits a thin, black and white tom with a long tail. His eyes are bright with amusement, though he looks tired.

“Tallstar?” demands Jake, bounding up to meet him. “What are you doing here?”

Rusty stares at the new tom, starstruck, but Princess has difficulty making the connection. “Who is Tallstar?” she hisses to her brother.

“_Talltail_,” he hisses back, not looking at her. His eyes are wide and his orange fur is all fluffed up.

“I had to warn you,” says the unfamiliar cat--Tallstar, apparently. “Do you mind if I come in?”

Jake, his face still blank with obvious shock, gestures with a tail flick that his friend is welcome. He hops through the window, onto the counter, and then onto the floor with speed and grace Princess has never seen in a cat before. “Warn me what?” Jake asks. He, too, seems entranced by the grace of Tallstar.

“Brokenstar--the leader of ShadowClan--has been stealing kits to turn into warriors. I remembered you had kits, and your twoleg territory is quite close to ShadowClan’s forests.” Tallstar turns to Princess and Rusty. “Are these your kits?” he asks curiously.

Jake glances back to them. “Yes,” he mews, walking over to introduce them. “This is Princess, and this is Rusty.”

Rusty puffs up with pride. 

Tallstar smiles. “Rusty certainly looks like you,” he observes.

Jake smiles, too, the expression seeming to break through the mask of surprise. “It’s funny, isn’t it?” he says. “It's coincidental. Rusty isn’t technically mine.”

“Really?" asks Tallstar curiously.

“He came from ShadowClan. They were training him to be a warrior at way too young an age. All of those scars--” he flicked his tail at Rusty’s face “--are from Brokenstar and Blackfoot.”

“I see.” Tallstar nods sympathetically. “Were you born in ShadowClan, then?” he asks, addressing Rusty for the first time.

“No,” he mews, voice wobbling a little. “I came there when I was really little. You said they were, uh. Stealing kits?”

Tallstar’s eyes widen and his tail flicks. “I did say that,” he confirms. He bounds back up to the counter and calls through the window, “Deadfoot! Come in here!”

Jake’s pelt bushes. “You brought another warrior?” he asks suspiciously.

“I had to. It wasn’t safe to travel alone. I suspect that kit-stealing is far from the worst of Brokenstar's crimes...I wouldn't be the first leader to randomly drop dead around him."

Something weird that Princess doesn’t get seems to pass between the two tomcats, and Jake dips his head. “Okay,” he says. 

A thin black tom with a lame front paw sticks his head in through the window. “It’s okay?” he asks Tallstar.

“Totally safe,” confirms the black and white tom.

Deadfoot slips through the window to join them in the kitchen. “Hello,” he says nervously to Jake. “I’ve never met a kittypet before.”

Jake doesn’t respond. Tallstar flicks his tail towards Rusty. “Do you remember when ThunderClan accused ShadowClan of stealing one of their kits?”

“Obviously,” says Deadfoot dryly. “That was the whole point of this thing, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, yes,” Tallstar replies distractedly. “Do you remember if they described the kit?”

Deadfoot narrows his eyes in thought. “I remember they said he was Bluefur’s son. Which would make Thrushpelt the father? He doesn’t really look like Thrushpelt.”

Tallstar nodded. “Indeed he does not. But--look at his body shape. Reminds me of Bluefur.”

Deadfoot tilts his head observingly and nods. “Indeed he does. And the eyes. Reminds me of--”

“Crookedstar,” interrupts Tallstar.

“Well, he’s definitely a Clan cat, at any rate,” Deadfoot says. “No kittypet's got claws like that. We have to tell Sunstar about this.”

“Agreed,” mews Tallstar. He turns back to Jake. “We think this kit is the one ThunderClan has been looking for,” he explains.

“Wow,” says Jake, looking at Rusty, then Tallstar, and then back again. “It seems likely, I guess.” He opens his mouth as if to say more, but snaps it shut again. An awkward silence passes between the two toms.

Then: “We have to go,” says Tallstar regretfully. “To tell Sunstar, and warn the Clans, and… stuff. If the description Bluefur gives matches Rusty…”

“Then he’ll probably go back to live in ThunderClan,” infers Jake.

Tallstar nods. “Exactly. I’ll, uh, be back when we have news. Yeah. Bye.”As he and Deadfoot exit through the window, Princess can hear a soft demand of, “What was _ that, _Tallstar? Since when are you so awkward?”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> here's a big, fat, juicy one! Involving like, a plot within a plot within a plot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went back through the previous chapters and edited them to improve the writing quality. None of the plot has changed though!

"We should recheck the Twolegplace border today. That seems a likely place for him to have escaped to."

Bluefur and Oakheart are walking side-by-side through the forest, a few paw steps behind Thrushpelt. Her voice comes out a little muffled by the mouse she clutches in her jaws. Oakheart is unencumbered by prey--although he is a fine hunter, he doesn't have the same flawless, natural skill as Bluefur.

He shakes his head. "We've checked the border all we can. We're not gonna find anything there." Oakheart sits down heavily and looks determinedly into Bluefur's eyes. "We need to attack ShadowClan. I'll bet you anything they have more information than that queen gave Thrushpelt, but the only way they're going to give it to us is if we beat it from them."

Bluefur scoffs. They'd had this argument before. "Fighting is pointless," she says. "We can't risk any warriors getting injured. Plus, if they have him, they could use him against us. Threaten to hurt him to get us to back down."

"They don't have him," Oakheart tells her, annoyed. "Remember? He ran away? Ringing any bells?'

Bluefur flattens her ears. "Fine," she snaps. "If we need information from ShadowClan, why don't we just track down that one queen? She was willing to help before."

Oakheart shakes his head. "That'd never work. She wouldn't even give Thrushpelt her name! Of course she isn't gonna tell us anything useful. I'm telling you, an attack is the only way to go."

"And I'm telling you," Bluefur says coldly, her hackles beginning to raise, "It's too risky." She knows they'll never find Firekit if half their warriors were too wounded to search. Plus, Brokenstar's reputation being what it is, it's not unlikely at all that he has Firekit as a hostage. Or that the queen's helpful hint was actually a strategic lie--anything is possible when it comes to ShadowClan. In any event, stealth is a much better option than full-out attack. Any smart warrior can see that from a mile away--why can't Oakheart?

Oakheart stands up to face his mate. His tail swings slowly back and forth behind him--Bluefur knows this means he's getting worked up. She stands to face him, ears flat against her head. "Sometimes," he says in a tight voice, "the risk is worth the reward." Bluefur knows the tone he's using. It's his, _I'm-trying-not-to-lose-my-temper-but-StarClan-are-you-making-it-difficult_ voice.

The patronizing tone sets Bluefur off more than it should. "And other times," she snarls, "it gets cats killed! I am not willing to--"

"See?" Oakheart interrupts. "It's all about what you're _not_ willing to do. If you took more risks, put in more _effort, _we would have found him by now!"

Bluefur has no response to that. She stands, facing him, her mouth open in shocked rage. The only sound that penetrates the silent clearing is their heavy breathing. It takes a moment for her to gather herself enough to speak, and when she does, her voice is icy. "You don't think I want my son back?"

"_Our_ son, Bluefur. You'd do well not to forget that."

"Of course I haven't!" Bluefur snarls, her pelt bushed. Meanwhile Thrushpelt, who has diplomatically ignored the argument until this point, bounds in front of Bluefur protectively.

"You'd better watch your tone," he orders in a growl.

Bluefur and Oakheart simultaneously roll their eyes. "Get out of the way, Thrushpelt," says Oakheart.

"Not until--"

"Leave," Bluefur says.

Thrushpelt turns to her with wide, hurt eyes, but Bluefur can't be bothered to reassure him. He bounds off into the forest, away from camp.

A flash of guilt shoots down Bluefur's spine, but she ignores it. Thrushpelt's feelings are the least of her worries right now. 

The interlude seems to have allowed Oakheart to reign in his anger. He sits down, curls his tail around his paws, and makes a visible effort to flatten his hackles. "I understand your point, Bluefur," he concedes. The small allowance sooths her frayed nerves. She finds a grassy spot (not to close to Oakheart; she's still pissed at him) and sits down. 

"Thank you," she says grudgingly.

"But I still think an attack is the best way."

Bluefur opens her mouth to object, but Oakheart speaks over her before she can even begin. "Just listen to me first--let me explain my viewpoint. Then you can tell me yours."

Bluefur nods tightly and waves her tail for him to begin.

"If we attack ShadowClan, two objectives are accomplished--if Firekit is with them, we get him back. If he's not, we get information. Either way, we've at least made progress from where we are now. Plus, even if they don't have any relevant information, taking Brokenstar down a peg or two can only be beneficial. You heard what Thrushpelt said--at the last gathering, he threatened RiverClan outright. When they cave--and with Brokenstar, it is a matter of when--he'll move on to threatening others. Most likely _us. _We can prevent that whole fiasco by taking action _now."_

Bluefur takes a moment to let the words sink in. Oakheart makes a good point--if ThunderClan wins, they'll gain an undeniable advantage. And the small glimmer of hope sparked by Oakheart's words tempts her more than she'd like to admit. It's true that the fight would be dangerous. But then again, all battles are. That's what they signed up for, becoming warriors. 

"I'm not the one you need to convince," she finally concedes, fur flattening. "Sunstar needs to agree."

Oakheart's eyes gleam eagerly. "You won't regret this, Bluefur," he assures her, dashing in for a quick nuzzle. "I'll go talk to him right now."

"I'm coming with you, daft furball. Who knows what you'd say to him without supervision?"

***

Sunstar, fair and level-headed as always, listens carefully to Oakheart's plan. Like Bluefur, however, he isn't totally convinced.

"Brokenstar is dangerous," he says, eyes narrowed in thought. "Cats could die."

"Cats could die either way," Oakheart says bluntly. "Namely, my son." 

"I know," Sunstar assures him evenly. "Just thinking out loud." 

Bluefur and Oakheart give him a moment, but remaining silent is a challenge. Bluefur's tail taps the den's floor nervously in a rapid rhythm. Oakheart brushes it with his own tail, and Bluefur nearly hisses at him. 

"Well, the warriors are the ones who'll be doing the fighting," Sunstar finally says. "It's their decision whether this is worth the bloodshed. We'll hold a vote."

"Perfect!" Bluefur mews, surprised. "That's--actually, yeah. Perfect. Tonight?"

"I can't see why not." The elderly leader stands up to pad out of the den, looking back to face Oakheart and Bluefur. "I'll call the meeting right now."

They both rush to follow him, eager and anxious in equal parts.

_The warriors love a good battle, _Bluefur thinks to herself. _And they loved Firekit, too. Of course they'll choose to fight._

Still, she isn't entirely successful in convincing herself. Her heart thrums nervously as she follows Sunstar out of the den, and she and Oakheart take their places among the warriors at the foot of the Highrock. 

Though Bluefur would love nothing more than to bury herself in her mate's embrace, she and Oakheart maintain a respectful distance in front of the Clan. Flaunting Bluefur's betrayal can't possibly help their case, and they both know it.

When Sunstar calls the Clan together, it doesn't take long for them to gather beneath the Highrock, murmuring curiously. Lionheart and Brindleface each give Oakheart a friendly nod and Rosetail smiles at him, but most cats ignore his presence entirely as Sunstar calls the meeting to order.

"Thank you for joining me for this meeting today," mews Sunstar. "I'm sure all of you heard what happened at the most recent Gathering, but I will reiterate just in case. Brokenstar requested access to RiverClan's hunting grounds, threatening them with war should they refuse. I then questioned him about Firekit's whereabouts, but he denied all knowledge. A ShadowClan queen, however, confided in Thrushpelt that while they had at one point had Firekit, he had escaped."

Though this is all common knowledge in the Clan, many cats still yowl with renewed outrage. Oakheart is among them. Thrushpelt just looks generally upset, his pelt bushed and his ears flat.

"Brokenstar's power is growing!" Sunstar continues when the cats have quieted down. "What this means for ThunderClan, I do not know. However, two of our warriors have come up with a plan to stop him and possibly gain information on Firekit in the process."

"Which warriors?" demands Tigerclaw. His eyes are gleaming excitedly. No doubt if the battle happens, he will be on the front line. 

"Bluefur and Oakheart."

Addertail snarls. "He's not one of our warriors!"

His objection prompts a new wave of yowling in the assembled warriors. It's impossible to make out any individual cry, but it doesn't take a genius to deduce that ThunderClan's opinions are divided. Lionheart stands in front of Oakheart, his eyes lit with righteous fury. Tigerclaw growls something at him, but the golden tom pays him no acknowledgement. Darkstripe's pelt is bushed as he howls something up at the Highrock.

Sunstar remains remarkably calm. His voice cuts through the chaos. "It seems your opinions differ," he says. "Oakheart, Bluefur, why don't you explain your plan? Then we will take a vote. Majority rules."

His effortless leadership soothes the clan into a disgruntled silence. Nobody protests as Bluefur and Oakheart make their way up to the Highrock.

"You speak," Oakheart murmurs. His voice is quiet enough that the cats below won't hear. "They'll trust this more coming from you."

Bluefur nods and swallows anxiously. But she tucks that part of herself away--she can't afford for the Clan to know she's scared. She replaces the fear with her Calm, Trustworthy Leader persona, smoothing her fur and letting her tail lay flat.

"Cats of ThunderClan," she addresses, surveying the camp. She makes eye contact with each cat in turn--even the elders and kits, who won't be voting. "Brokenstar poses a threat to every Clan in this forest--even his own. He proves that every day, with new threats and new fights and new deaths. He proved that when he stole my son."

The clearing is silent. Bluefur has their full attention. She plunges on. "We have the opportunity now to kill two birds with one stone: put an end to his tyrannical rule, and bring ourselves one step closer to recovering our lost Classmate. He said it himself--his clan is weak from lack of prey! Why else would they threaten RiverClan? This is our chance to beat them in battle! An opportunity we may not get again."

From the corner of her eye, Bluefur can see Oakheart nod. He steps forward until he is equal with Bluefur. "We propose a sneak attack," he says, voice quiet, calm, and commanding. It draws the focus of every cat in the Clan, even those who had declared themselves against him. "One dawn from now, we will sneak into the ShadowClan camp. Two stealthy cats--preferably with dark pelts for camouflage--would sneak into Brokenstar's den and attack him. Their aim would be to subdue him as quickly as possible, to avoid an alarm from being raised. When he is defenseless and unable to fight, possibly unconscious--note that we don't aim to kill him--the rest of our warriors would infiltrate the camp. We'd need a fairly large patrol of our very strongest warriors, since obviously in their own camp, we would be outnumbered. The warriors would form a circle around Brokenstar and our two warriors, to make sure no ShadowClan cat can get to them. Then, with a paw on Brokenstar's throat, we'd demand information.

Tigerclaw is the first to break the silence that follows. "You want us to threaten Brokenstar's life to get the warriors to give us information."

"Thats the gist of it, yes."

Tigerclaw's amber eyes gleam. "I love it." He actually licks his lips.

Then, every cat is racing to voice their own opinion. "That doesn't seem very ethical."

"_Brokenstar _isn't very ethical!"

"How could we guarantee our warriors' safety?"

"What if they don't even have information?"

_"What if they refuse?"_

The final question cuts through the rest of the voices, and everyone looks to the cat who asked. Whitestorm. He looks embarrassed to be the center of attention, but continues, "I just mean, he isn't a very good leader. They might want to be rid of him."

"Then we'd be doing everyone a favor killing him," says Tigerclaw coldly. "Right?" With the last word, he stares directly into Bluestar's eyes.

She shivers. "Right." She ignores the moral side of herself, which begs her to consider a more ethical plan. She wants her son back. She will do anything for him. Oakheart was right when he said the risk was worth the reward--could anything be more rewarding than having her precious son beside her again?

"That's all, Sunstar," Oakheart says politely, and Bluefur realizes they haven't even voted yet.

"Thank you, Oakheart," Sunstar mews cordially. "Those who want to attack, stand by the nursery. Those who do not, by the medicine den. Warriors and apprentices will vote."

"Do Oakheart and I get to vote?" Bluefur asks privately.

Sunstar ponders the question for a moment, brushing his tail against the Highrock. "You'd be participating in the battle, so your opinion matters. You may vote."

Bluefur manages a purr of thanks and climbs down to the ground, Oakheart on her tail. Her stomach is churning anxiously. Though she'd been the one to propose the plan to the Clan, she can't help but doubt herself. Is violence really the answer? It's such a dirty, backhanded plan... 

Still, she follows her mate to the _Fight _section.

She holds her breath as Sunstar counts. Looking around, it seems like the _Fight _party is larger, but you never know...

"The decision has been made," Sunstar announces after what seems like a lifetime. "We will fight."

***

  
The first thing Crookedstar does when he pads out of the den that morning is sniff the air hopefully. His ears prick up. Warm winds are on the way.

In the past couple days, the weather has calmed down. Though cold breezes still cut through the trees, they have gotten no new snow in at least a quarter moon, and the sky is cloudless and clear. Leaf-bare is coming to a close. 

Privately, Crookedstar breaths a sigh of relief. Though the decision to join ShadowClan has more than likely saved RiverClan lives, the weeks spent in Brokenstar's territory have been uncomfortable at best and downright miserable at worst. He is extremely glad that they'll be on their way home soon.

Crookedstar crosses camp jubilantly, smiling and nodding at a few of his warriors on the way. While they have been remarkably understanding of the reasons behind Crookedstar's difficult choice, they've enjoyed their stay in ShadowClan as much as Crookedstar had. Read: they hated every StarClan-forsaken second of it.

"Brokenstar," Crookedstar greets. He respectfully bows his head to the dark brown tabby tom.

Brokenstar scoffs and rolls his eyes in response.

Crookedstar ignores his colleague's breach of etiquette (Brokenstar probably doesn't even know what etiquette is, truth be told) and begins, "Warm winds are on the way. This difficult leaf-bare is coming to a close. We thank you for your hospitality, but RiverClan will be taking our leave today."

Brokenstar's eyes widen in an insulting mockery of surprise. "Oh really?" he asks, voice shocked. "But I thought you were too weak to survive on your own!"

Crookedstar is just barely successful in stopping himself from growling. "Though the leaf-bare took its toll on us," he acknowledges, "we are ready to leave."

"That's unfortunate," Brokenstar tells him. His pleasant, honeyed tone just barely masks a snarl. "Because ShadowClan isn't ready for you to leave. Blackfoot?"

The white tom seems to materialize from thin air. "Yes, Brokenstar?" he asks, dipping his head until his whiskers brush the forest floor.

"Explain to our guest why it would be a very bad idea to leave."

Blackfoot grins--a nasty, threatening mockery of a smile. "Of course."

He directs Crookedstar to the apprentices den. Both toms are almost too big to fit through the small entrance, but Crookedstar's heart almost stops when he sees what's inside:

His beautiful daughter Silverpaw, held to the ground by a malicious-looking Clawface. The aptly-named warrior had been assigned as her "hunting mentor," supposedly to teach her how to catch forest prey, but it's obvious that no mentoring is happening here. His claws are unsheathed. Silverpaw is bleeding.

"Well," he announces weakly. "I'm sure it wouldn't hurt to stay a bit longer!"

"I was hoping you'd say that!" Blackfoot says happily. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who thinks its abrupt how quickly Bluefur changed her mind:
> 
> She still feels guilty for how she failed Mosskit, and is determined not to do the same for Firekit. Though Oakheart didn't directly mention that (he's too nice for that) it was definitely implied that if she didn't take action (ie attacking ShadowClan) she'd be failing him, too. 
> 
> but oops! they don't know RiverClan and ShadowClan are allied! Uh oh! Wonder how this one will play out!

**Author's Note:**

> hopefully you enjoyed that! all art and writing belongs to me. Please leave feedback and criticism so I know what to improve.
> 
> (btw! i love illustrated stories...so any fanart for this story will be featured in the chapter it relates to. thanks!)
> 
> Also, as of 4/17/20, I am editing the story. No major plot changes, but the writing should be of a higher quality now. So that's nice.


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